UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


A  DOG  OF  FLANDERS 
THE  NURNBERG  STOVE 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


ELEVENTH    IMPRESSION 


**^tortej8  au  €iiimm  lobe" 

A  SET  OF  CHILDREN'S  CLASSICS  THAT  SHOULD  BE 
IN  EVEKy  WINTER  HOME  AND  SUMMER  COTTAGE 


Mazh 

By  JOHANNA  SPYRI 
Tranriated  by  ELISABETH  P.  STORK 

Comelli 

By  JOHANNA  SPYRI 
Translated  by  ELISABETH  P.  STORK 

A  Child's  Garden  of  Verses 

By  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

The  Little  Lame  Prince  and  Other  Stories 

By  MISS  MULOCK 

Gulliver's  Travels 

By  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

The  Water  Babies 

Bt  CHARLES  KINGSLEY 

Pinocchio 

By  C.  COLLODI 

Robinson  Crusoe 

By  DANIEL  DEFOE 

Heidi  by  johanna  spyri 

Translated  by  ELISABETH  P.  STORK 

The  Cuckoo  Clock 

By  MRS.  MOLESWORTH 

The  Swiss  Family  Robinson 

Edited  by  G.  E.  MITTON 

The  Princess  and  Curdie 

By  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

The  Princess  and  the  Goblin 

By  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

At  the  Back  of  the  North  Wind 

By  GEORGE  MACDONALD 

A  Dog  of  Flanders  By  "ouida" 

Bimbi  By  "Ouida" 

Mopsa,  the  Fairy  by  jean  ingelow 

Tales  of  Fairyland 

By  FERGUS  HUME 

Hans  Andersen's  Fairy  Tales 

Eaeh  Volume  Beautifully  Illuatrated  in  Color-      Decorated  Clothe 
Other  Book)  in  This  Set  are  in  Preparation . 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


http://archive.org/details/dogofflandersnrnouida 


THEN    LITTLE   NELLO   TOOK   HIS   PLACE   BESIDE   THE    CART 


A  DOG  OF  FLANDERS 
THE  NURNBERG  STOVE 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 
BY 

LOUISA  DE  LA  RAME 

(OUIDA) 


H^ITJF/  JLLUSTRA  TIONS  IN  COLOR  BY 

MARIA  L.  KIRK 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY 


COPTEIGHT,    1909,    BI    J.    B.    LiPPINCOTT    COMPAKX 


PHnf£d  by  J.  B.  IdppincoU  Company 
3%c  Washington  Square  Press,  PhiiadelpMa,  U.S.  A 


CONTENTS 


PAGB 

A.  Dog  of  Flanders 9 

The  NtJRNBEEG  Stove 61 

In  the  Apple-Countrt 131 

The  Little  Earl 171 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Then  Little  Nello  Took  His  Place  Beside  the 
Cakt Frontispiece 

Nello  Drew  Their  Likeness  with  a  Stick  of  Charcoal    31 

"It  is  a  Sin;  it  is  a  Theft;  it  is  an  Infamy,"  He  Said.     83 

August  Opened  the  Window,  Crammed  the  Snow  Into 
His  Mouth  Again  and  Again 98 

"  Let  Us  Rest  a  Little  and  Eat" 133 

She  Only  Ran  On,  Stumbling  Often  and  Feeling 
FOR  the  Matches  in  the  Bosom  of  Her  Ugly 
Gray  Cotton  Frock 159 

"Little  Girl,  Why  Do  You  Cry  ?  "  He  Said.     .     .     .196 

He  Shaeed  it  Willingly 221 


A  DOG  OF   FLANDERS 


A  DOG   OF   FLANDERS 

A  STORY  OF  NOEL. 


Nello  and  Patrasche  were  left  all  alone  in  the 
world. 

They  were  friends  in  a  friendship  closer  than  brother- 
hood. Nello  was  a  little  Ardennois — Patrasche  was  a 
big  Fleming.  They  were  both  of  the  same  age  by 
length  of  years,  yet  one  was  still  young,  and  the  other 
was  already  old.  They  had  dwelt  together  almost  all 
their  days :  both  were  orphaned  and  destitute,  and 
owed  their  lives  to  the  same  hand.  It  had  been  the 
beginning  of  the  tie  between  them,  their  first  bond  of 
sympathy ;  and  it  had  strengthened  day  by  day,  and 
had  grown  with  their  growth,  firm  and  indissoluble, 
until  they  loved  one  another  very  greatly. 

Their  home  was  a  little  hut  on  the  edge  of  a  little 
village — a  Flemish  village  a  league  from  Antwerp,  set 
amidst  flat  breadths  of  pasture  and  corn-lands,  with 
long  lines  of  poplars  and  of  alders  bending  in  the 

11 


12  A  DOQ  OP  FLANDERS. 

breeze  on  the  edge  of  the  great  canal  which  ran 
through  it.  It  had  about  a  score  of  houses  and  home- 
steads, with  shutters  of  bright  green  or  sky-blue,  and 
roofs  rose-red  or  black  and  white,  and  walls  white- 
washed until  they  shone  in  the  sun  like  snow.  In 
the  centre  of  the  village  stood  a  windmill,  placed  on  a 
little  moss-grown  slope :  it  was  a  landmark  to  all  the 
level  country  round.  It  had  once  been  painted  scarlet, 
sails  and  all,  but  that  had  been  in  its  infancy,  half  a 
century  or  more  earlier,  when  it  had  ground  wheat  for 
the  soldiers  of  Napoleon;  and  it  was  now  a  ruddy 
brown,  tanned  by  wind  and  weather.  It  went  queerly 
by  fits  and  starts,  as  though  rheumatic  and  stiff  in  the 
joints  from  age,  but  it  served  the  whole  neighborhood, 
which  would  have  thought  it  almost  as  impious  to  carry 
grain  elsewhere  as  to  attend  any  other  religious  service 
than  the  mass  that  was  performed  at  the  altar  of  the 
little  old  gray  church,  with  its  conical  steeple,  which 
stood  opposite  to  it,  and  whose  single  bell  rang  morn- 
ing, noon,  and  night  with  that  strange,  subdued,  hollow 
sadness  which  every  bell  that  hangs  in  the  Low  Coun- 
tries seems  to  gain  as  an  integral  part  of  its  melody. 

Within  sound  of  the  little  melancholy  clock  almost 
from  their  birth  upward,  they  had  dwelt  together, 
Nello  and  Patrasche,  in  tiie  little  hut  on  the  edge  of 
the  village,  with  the  cathedral  spire  of  Antwerp  rising 
in  the  north-east,  beyond  the  great  green  plain  of  seed- 
ing grass  and  spreading  corn  that  stretched  away  from 
them  like  a  tideless,  changeless  sea.  It  was  the  hut 
of  a  very  old  man,  of  a  very  poor  man—of  old  Jehan 
Daas  who  in  his  time  had  been  a  soldier,  and  who 


A  DOO  OF  FLANDERS.  13 

remembered  the  wars  that  had  trampled  the  coimtry  as 
oxen  tread  down  the  furrows,  and  who  had  brought 
from  his  service  nothing  except  a  wound,  which  had 
made  him  a  cripple. 

When  old  Jehan  Daas  had  reached  his  full  eighty, 
his  daughter  had  died  in  the  Ardennes,  hard  by  Stave- 
lot,  and  had  left  him  in  legacy  her  two-year-old  son. 
The  old  man  could  ill  contrive  to  support  himself,  but 
he  took  up  the  additional  burden  uncomplainingly, 
and  it  soon  became  welcome  and  precious  to  him. 
Little  Nello— which  was  but  a  pet  diminutive  for 
Nicolas — throve  with  him,  and  the  old  man  and  the 
little  child  lived  in  the  poor  little  hut  contentedly. 

It  was  a  very  humble  little  mud-hut  indeed,  but  it 
was  clean  and  white  as  a  sea-shell,  and  stood  in  a  small 
plot  of  garden-ground  that  yielded  beans  and  herbs 
and  pumpkins.  They  were  very  poor,  terribly  poor — 
many  a  day  they  had  nothing  at  all  to  eat.  They 
never  by  any  chance  had  enough  :  to  have  had  enough 
to  eat  would  have  been  to  have  reached  paradise  at 
once.  But  the  old  man  was  very  gentle  and  good  to 
the  boy,  and  the  boy  was  a  beautiful,  innocent,  truth- 
ful, tender-natured  creature ;  and  they  were  happy  on 
a  crust  and  a  few  leaves  of  cabbage,  and  asked  no 
more  of  earth  or  heaven ;  save  indeed  that  Patrasche 
should  be  always  with  them,  since  without  Patrasche 
where  would  they  have  been  ? 

For  Patrasche  was  their  alpha  and  omega ;  their 
treasury  and  granary ;  their  store  of  gold  and  wand 
of  wealtn  ;  their  bread-winner  and  minister ;  their  only 
friend  ana  comforter.     Patrasche  dead  or  gone  from 


14  A   DOG  OF  FLANDERS. 

them,  they  must  have  laid  themselves  down  and  died 
likewise.  Patrasche  was  body,  brains,  hands,  head,  and 
feet  to  both  of  them :  Patrasche  was  their  very  life, 
their  very  soul.  For  Jehan  Daas  was  old  and  a  cripple, 
and  Nello  was  but  a  child ;  and  Patrasche  was  their 
dog. 

A  dog  of  Flanders — yellow  of  hide,  large  of  head 
and  limb,  with  wolf-like  ears  that  stood  erect,  and  legs 
bowed  and  feet  widened  in  the  muscular  development 
wrought  in  his  breed  by  many  generations  of  hard 
service.  Patrasche  came  of  a  race  which  had  toiled 
hard  and  cruelly  from  sire  to  son  in  Flanders  many  a 
century — slaves  of  slaves,  dogs  of  the  people,  beasts 
of  the  shafts  and  the  harness,  creatures  that  lived 
straining  their  sinews  in  the  gall  of  the  cart,  and  died 
breaking  their  hearts  on  the  flints  of  the  streets. 

Patrasche  had  been  born  of  parents  who  had  labored 
hard  all  their  days  over  the  sharp-set  stones  of  the 
various  cities  and  the  long,  shadowless,  weary  roads 
of  the  two  Flanders  and  of  Brabant.  He  had  been 
bom  to  no  other  heritage  than  those  of  pain  and  of 
toil.  He  had  been  fed  on  curses  and  baptized  with 
blows.  Why  not?  It  was  a  Christian  country,  and 
Patrasche  was  but  a  dog.  Before  he  was  fully  grown 
he  had  known  the  bitter  gall  of  the  cart  and  the  collar. 
Before  he  had  entered  his  thirteenth  month  he  had 
become  the  property  of  a  hardware-dealer,  who  was 
accustomed  to  wander  over  the  land  north  and  south, 
from  the  blue  sea  to  the  green  mountains.  They  sold 
him  for  a  small  price,  because  he  was  so  young. 

This  man  was  a  drunkard  and  a  brute.     The  life  of 


A  DOQ   OF  FLANDERS.  15 

Patrasche  was  a  life  of  hell.  To  deal  the  tortures  of 
hell  on  the  animal  creation  is  a  way  which  the  Chrifi- 
tians  have  of  showing  their  belief  in  it.  His  purchaser 
was  a  sullen,  ill-living,  brutal  Brabantois,  who  heaped 
his  cart  full  with  pots  and  pans  and  flagons  and 
buckets,  and  other  wares  of  crockery  and  brass  and 
tin,  and  left  Patrasche  to  draw  the  load  as  best  he 
might,  whilst  he  himself  lounged  idly  by  the  side  in 
fat  and  sluggish  ease,  smoking  his  black  pipe  and  stop- 
ping at  every  wineshop  or  caf(§  on  the  road. 

Happily  for  Patrasche — or  unhappily — he  was  very 
strong :  he  came  of  an  iron  race,  long  bom  and  bred 
to  such  cruel  travail ;  so  that  he  did  not  die,  but 
managed  to  drag  on  a  wretclied  existence  under  the 
brutal  burdens,  the  scarifying  lashes,  the  hunger,  the 
thirst,  the  blows,  the  curses,  and  the  exhaustion  which 
"je  the  only  wages  with  which  the  Flemings  repay  the 
most  patient  and  laborious  of  all  their  four-footed 
victims.  One  day,  after  two  years  of  this  long  and 
deadly  agony,  Patrasche  was  going  on  as  usual  along 
one  of  the  straight,  dusty,  unlovely  roads  that  lead  to 
the  city  of  Rubens.  It  was  full  midsummer,  and  very 
warm.  His  cart  was  very  heavy,  piled  high  with 
goods  in  metal  and  in  earthenware.  His  owner  saun- 
tered on  without  noticing  him  otherwise  than  by  the 
crack  of  the  whip  as  it  curled  round  his  quivering 
loins.  The  Brabantois  had  paused  to  drink  beer  him- 
self at  every  wayside  house,  but  he  had  forbidden 
Patrasche  to  stop  a  moment  for  a  draught  from  the 
cana2.  Going  along  thus,  in  the  full  sun,  on  a  scorch- 
ing highway,  having  eaten  nothing  for  twenty-four 


16  A  DOG   OF  FLANDERS. 

hours,  and,  which  was  far  worse  to  him,  not  having 
tasted  water  for  near  twelve,  being  blind  with  dust, 
sore  with  blows,  and  stupefied  with  the  merciless  weight 
which  dragged  upon  his  loins,  Patrasche,  for  once, 
staggered  and  foamed  a  little  at  the  mouth,  and  fell. 

He  fell  in  the  middle  of  the  white,  dusty  road,  in 
the  full  glare  of  the  sun ;  he  was  sick  unto  death,  and 
motionless.  His  master  gave  him  the  only  medicine 
in  his  pharmacy — kicks  and  oaths  and  blows  with  a 
cudgel  of  oak,  which  had  been  often  the  only  food  and 
drink,  the  only  wage  and  reward,  ever  offered  to  him. 
But  Patrasche  was  beyond  the  reach  of  any  torture  or 
of  any  curses.  Patrasche  lay,  dead  to  all  appearances, 
down  in  the  white  powder  of  the  summer  dust.  After 
a  while,  finding  it  useless  to  assail  his  ribs  with  punish- 
ment and  his  ears  with  maledictions,  the  Brabantois — 
deeming  life  gone  in  him,  or  going  so  nearly  that  his 
carcass  was  forever  useless,  unless  indeed  some  one 
should  strip  it  of  the  skin  for  gloves — cursed  him 
fiercely  in  farewell,  struck  off  the  leathern  bands  of  the 
harness,  kicked  his  body  heavily  aside  into  the  grass, 
and,  groaning  and  muttering  in  savage  wrath,  pushed 
the  cart  lazily  along  the  road  up-hill,  and  left  the 
dying  dog  there  for  the  ants  to  sting  and  for  the  crows 
to  pick. 

It  was  the  last  day  before  Kermesse  away  at  Lou- 
vain,  and  the  Brabantois  was  in  haste  to  reach  the  fair 
and  get  a  good  place  for  his  truck  of  brass  wares. 
He  was  in  fierce  wrath,  because  Patrasche  had  been 
a  strong  and  much-enduring  animal,  and  because  he 
himsel  f  had  now  the  hard  task  of  pushing  his  charette 


A   D0&  OF  FLANDERS.  17 

all  the  way  to  Louvain.  But  to  stay  to  look  after 
Patrasche  never  entered  his  thoughts :  the  beast  was 
dying  and  useless,  and  he  would  steal,  to  replace  him, 
the  first  large  dog  that  he  found  wandering  alone  out 
of  sight  of  its  master.  Patrasche  had  cost  Iiim  noth- 
ing, or  next  to  nothing,  and  for  two  long,  cruel  yeai'a 
had  made  him  toil  ceaselessly  in  his  service  from  sun- 
rise to  simset,  through  summer  and  winter,  in  fair 
weather  and  foul. 

He  had  got  a  fair  use  and  a  good  profit  out  of 
Patrasche:  being  human,  he  was  wise,  and  left  the 
dog  to  draw  his  last  breath  alone  in  the  ditch,  and 
have  his  bloodshot  eyes  plucked  out  as  they  might  be 
by  the  birds,  whilst  he  himself  went  on  his  way  to  b^ 
and  to  steal,  to  eat  and  to  drink,  to  dance  and  to  sing, 
in  the  mirth  at  liouvain.  A  dying  dog,  a  dog  of  the 
cart — why  should  he  waste  hours  over  its  agonies  at 
peril  of  losing  a  handful  of  copper  coins,  at  peril  of  a 
shout  of  laughter  ? 

Patrasche  lay  there,  flung  in  the  grass-green  ditch- 
It  was  a  busy  road  that  day,  and  hundreds  of  people, 
on  foot  and  on  mules,  in  wagons  or  in  carts,  went  by, 
tramping  quickly  and  joyously  on  to  Louvain.  Some 
saw  him,  most  did  not  even  look :  all  passed  on.  A 
dead  dog  more  or  less — it  was  nothing  in  Brabant :  it 
would  be  nothing  anywhere  in  the  world. 

Afler  a  time,  among  the  holiday-makers,  there  came 
a  little  old  man  who  was  bent  and  lame,  and  very 
feeble.  He  was  in  no  guise  for  feasting  :  he  was  very 
poorly  and  miserably  clad,  and  he  dragged  his  silent 
way  slowly   through   the   dust   among  t!.,e   pleasure- 


18  A  DOG   OF  FLANDERS. 

seekers.  He  looked  at  Patrasche,  paused,  wondered, 
turned  aside,  then  kneeled  down  in  the  rank  grass  and 
weeds  of  the  ditch,  and  surveyed  the  dog  with  kindly 
eyes  of  pity.  There  was  with  him  a  little  rosy,  fair- 
haired,  dark-eyed  child  of  a  few  years  old,  who  pat- 
tered in  amidst  the  bushes,  that  were  for  him  breast- 
high,  and  stood  gazing  with  a  pretty  seriousness  upon 
the  poor,  great,  quiet  beast. 

Thus  it  was  that  these  two  first  met — the  little  Nello 
and  the  big  Patrasche. 

The  upshot  of  that  day  was,  that  old  Jehan  Daas, 
with  much  laborious  effort,  drew  the  sufferer  homeward 
to  his  own  little  hut,  which  was  a  stone's  throw  off 
amidst  the  fields,  and  there  tended  him  with  so  much 
care  that  the  sickness,  which  had  been  a  brain  seizure, 
brought  on  by  heat  and  thirst  and  exhaustion,  with 
time  and  shade  and  rest  passed  away,  and  health  and 
strength  returned,  and  Patrasche  staggered  up  again 
upon  his  four  stout,  tawny  legs. 

Now  for  many  weeks  he  had  been  useless,  powerless, 
sore,  near  to  death ;  but  all  this  time  he  had  heard  no 
rough  word,  had  felt  no  harsh  touch,  but  only  the 
pitying  murmurs  of  the  little  child's  voice  and  the 
soothing  caress  of  the  old  man's  hand. 

In  his  sickness  they  too  had  grown  to  care  for  him, 
this  lonely  old  man  and  the  little  happy  child.  He 
had  a  corner  of  the  hut,  with  a  heap  of  dry  grass  for 
his  bed ;  and  they  had  learned  to  listen  eagerly  for  his 
breathing  in  the  dark  night,  to  tell  them  that  he  lived  ; 
and  when  he  first  was  well  enough  to  essay  a  loud, 
boUow,  broken  bay,  they  laughed  aloud,  and  alniow 


A  DOa  OF  FLANDERS.  19 

^ept  together  for  joy  at  such  a  sign  of  his  sure  ree- 
toration ;  and  little  Nello,  in  delighted  glee,  hung 
round  his  rugged  neck  with  chains  of  marguerites,  and 
kissed  him  with  fresh  and  ruddy  lips. 

So  then,  when  Pati'asche  arose,  himself  again,  strong, 
big,  gaunt,  powerful,  his  great  wistful  eyes  had  a 
gentle  astonishment  in  them  that  there  were  no  curses 
to  rouse  him  and  no  blows  to  drive  him ;  and  his  heart 
awakened  to  a  mighty  love,  which  never  wavered  once 
in  its  fidelity  whilst  life  abode  with  him. 

But  Patrasche,  being  a  dog,  was  grateful.  Patrasche 
lay  pondering  long  with  grave,  tender,  musing  brown 
eyes,  watching  the  movements  of  his  friends. 

Now,  the  old  soldier,  Jehan  Daas,  could  do  nothing 
for  his  living  but  limp  about  a  little  with  a  small  cart, 
with  which  he  carried  daily  the  milk-cans  of  those 
happier  neighbors  who  owned  cattle  away  into  the 
town  of  Antwerp.  The  villagers  gave  him  the  em- 
ployment a  little  out  of  charity — more  because  it  suited 
them  well  to  send  their  milk  into  the  town  by  so 
honest  a  carrier,  and  bide  at  home  themselves  to  look 
after  their  gardens,  their  cows,  their  poultry,  or  their 
little  fields.  But  it  was  becoming  hard  work  for  the 
old  man.  He  was  eighty-three,  and  Antwerp  was  a 
good  league  off,  or  more. 

Patrasche  watched  the  milk-cans  come  and  go  that 
one  day  when  he  had  got  well  and  was  lying  in  the 
sun  with  the  wreath  of  marguerites  round  his  tawny 
neck. 

The  next  morning,  Patrasche,  before  the  old  maii 
bad  tou  ilied  the  cart,  arose  and  walked  to  it  and  placed 


20  -4  DOG   OF  FLANDERS. 

himself  betwixt  its  handles,  and  testified  as  plainly  as 
dumb  show  could  do  his  desire  and  his  ability  to  work 
in  return  for  the  bread  of  charity  that  he  had  eaten. 
Jehan  Daas  resisted  long,  for  the  old  man  was  one  of 
those  who  thought  it  a  foul  shame  to  bind  dogs  to 
labor  for  which  Nature  never  formed  them.  But 
Patrasche  would  not  be  gainsaid :  finding  they  did 
not  harness  him,  he  tried  to  draw  the  cart  onward 
with  his  teeth. 

At  length  Jehan  Daas  gave  way,  vanquished  by  the 
persistence  and  the  gratitude  of  this  creature  whom  he 
had  succored.  He  fashioned  his  cart  so  that  Patrasche 
could  run  in  it,  and  this  he  did  every  morning  of  his 
life  thenceforward. 

When  the  winter  came,  Jehan  Daas  thanked  the 
blessed  fortune  that  had  brought  him  to  the  dying  dog 
in  the  ditch  that  fair-day  of  Louvain ;  for  he  was  very 
old,  and  he  grew  feebler  with  each  year,  and  he  would 
ill  have  known  how  to  pull  his  load  of  milk-cans  over 
the  snows  and  through  the  deep  ruts  in  the  mud  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  strength  and  the  industry  of  the 
animal  he  had  befriended.  As  for  Patrasche,  it  seemed 
heaven  to  him.  After  the  frightful  burdens  that  his 
old  master  had  compelled  him  to  strain  under,  at  the 
call  of  the  whip  at  every  step,  it  seemed  nothing  to 
him  but  amusement  to  step  out  with  this  little  light 
green  cart,  with  its  bright  brass  cans,  by  the  side  of 
the  gentle  old  man  who  always  paid  him  with  a  tender 
caress  and  with  a  kindly  word.  Besides,  his  work  was 
over  by  three  or  fom*  in  the  day,  and  after  that  time 
he  w«s  free  to  do  as  he  would — to  stretch  himself,  to 


A  DOG   OF  FLANDERS.  21 

sleep  in  the  sun,  to  wander  in  the  fields,  to  romp  with 
the  young  child,  or  to  play  with  his  fellow-dogs. 
Patrasche  was  very  happy. 

Fortunately  for  his  peace,  his  former  owner  was 
killed  in  a  drunken  brawl  at  the  Kermesse  of  Mechlin, 
and  so  sought  not  after  him  nor  disturbed  him  in  his 
new  and  well-loved  home. 

A  few  years  later,  old  Jehan  Daas,  who  had  always 
been  a  cripple,  became  so  paralyzed  with  rheumatism 
that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  go  out  with  the  cart 
any  more.  Then  little  Nello,  being  now  grown  to  his 
sixth  year  of  age,  and  knowing  the  town  well  from 
having  accompanied  his  grandfather  so  many  times, 
took  his  place  beside  the  cart,  and  sold  the  milk  and 
received  the  coins  in  exchange,  and  brought  them  back 
to  their  respective  owners  with  a  pretty  grace  and 
seriousness  which  charmed  all  who  beheld  him. 

The  little  Ardennois  was  a  beautiful  child,  with 
dark,  grave,  tender  eyes,  and  a  lovely  bloom  upon  his 
face,  and  fair  locks  that  clustered  to  his  throat ;  and 
many  an  artist  sketched  the  group  as  it  went  by  him — 
the  green  cart  with  the  brass  flagons  of  Teniers  and 
Mieris  and  Van  Tal,  and  the  great  tawny-colored, 
massive  dog,  with  his  belled  harness  that  chimed 
cheerily  as  he  went,  and  the  small  figure  that  ran  be- 
side him  which  had  little  white  feet  in  great  wooden 
shoes,  and  a  soft,  grave,  innocent,  happy  &ce  like  the 
little  fair  :jhildren  of  Rubens. 

Ifillo  and  Patrasche  did  the  work  so  well  and  so 
joyfully  together  that  Jehan  Daas  himself,  when  the 
summer  came  and  he  was  better  again,  had  no  need  to 


22  A  DOG   OF  FLANDERS. 

stir  out,  but  could  sit  in  the  doorway  in  the  sun  and 
see  them  go  forth  through  the  garden  wicket,  and  then 
doze  and  dream  and  pray  a  little,  and  then  awake 
again  as  the  clock  tolled  three  and  watch  for  their 
return.  And  on  their  return  Patrasche  would  shake 
himself  free  of  his  harness  with  a  bay  of  glee,  and 
Nello  would  recount  with  pride  the  doings  of  the  day ; 
and  they  would  all  go  in  together  to  their  meal  of  rye 
bread  and  milk  or  soup,  and  would  see  the  shadows 
lengthen  over  the  great  plain,  and  see  the  twilight  veil 
the  fair  cathedral  spire ;  and  then  lie  down  together  to 
sleep  peacefully  while  the  old  man  said  a  prayer. 

So  the  days  and  the  years  went  on,  and  the  lives 
of  Nello  and  Patrasche  were  happy,  innocent,  and 
healthful. 

In  the  spring  and  summer  especially  were  they  glad. 
Flanders  is  not  a  lovely  land,  and  around  the  burgh  of 
Rubens  it  is  perhaps  least  lovely  of  all.  Corn  and 
colza,  pasture  and  plough,  succeed  each  other  on  the 
characterless  plain  in  wearying  repetition,  and  save  by 
some  gaunt  gray  tower,  with  its  peal  of  pathetic  bells, 
or  some  figure  coming  athwart  the  fields,  made  pictur- 
esque by  a  gleaner's  bundle  or  a  woodman's  fagot, 
there  is  no  change,  no  variety,  no  beauty  anywhere; 
and  he  who  has  dwelt  upon  the  mountains  or  amidst 
the  forests  feels  oppressed  as  by  imprisonment  with  the 
tedium  and  the  endlessness  of  that  vast  and  dreary 
level.  But  it  is  green  and  very  fertile,  and  it  has 
wide  horizons  that  have  a  certain  charm  of  their  own 
even  in  thei  dulness  and  monotony ;  and  among  the 
rjflhea  '3y  the  water-side  the  flowers  grow,  and  the  trees 


A  DOQ   OF  FLANDERS.  23 

rise  tall  and  fresh  where  the  barges  glide  with  their 
great  hulks  black  against  the  sun,  and  their  little  green 
barrels  and  vari-colored  flags  gay  against  the  leaves. 
Anyway,  there  is  greenery  and  breadth  of  space  enough 
to  be  as  good  as  beauty  to  a  child  and  a  dog ;  and  these 
two  asked  no  better,  when  their  work  was  done,  than 
to  lie  buried  in  the  lush  grasses  on  the  side  of  the  canal, 
and  watch  the  cumbrous  vessels  drifting  by  and  bring- 
ing the  crisp  salt  smell  of  the  sea  among  the  blossoming 
scents  of  the  country  summer. 

True,  in  the  winter  it  was  harder,  and  they  had  to 
rise  in  the  darkness  and  the  bitter  cold,  and  they  had 
eeldom  as  much  as  they  could  have  eaten  any  day, 
and  the  hut  was  scarce  better  than  a  shed  when  the 
nights  were  cold,  although  it  looked  so  pretty  in  warm 
weather,  buried  in  a  great  kindly-clambering  vine,  that 
never  bore  fruit,  indeed,  but  which  covered  it  with 
luxuriant  green  tracery  all  through  the  months  of  blos- 
som and  harvest.  In  winter  the  winds  found  many 
holes  in  the  walls  of  the  poor  little  hut,  and  the  vine 
was  black  and  leafless,  and  the  bare  lands  looked  very 
bleak  and  drear  without,  and  sometimes  within  the  floor 
was  flooded  and  then  frozen.  In  winter  it  was  hard,  and 
the  snow  numbed  the  little  white  limbs  of  Nello,  and 
the  icicles  cut  the  brave,  untiring  feet  of  Patrasche. 

But  even  then  they  were  never  heard  to  lament, 
either  of  them.  The  child's  wooden  shoes  and  the 
dag's  four  legs  would  trot  manfully  together  over  the 
frozen  fields  to  the  chime  of  the  bells  on  the  harness ; 
(vnd  then  scmetimes,  in  the  streets  of  Antwerp,  some 
house wfe  would  bring  them  a  bowl  of  soup  and  a 


24  A   DOQ   OF  FLANDERS. 

handful  of  bread,  or  some  kindly  trader  would  throw 
some  billets  of  fuel  into  the  little  cart  as  it  went  home- 
ward, or  some  woman  in  their  own  village  would  bid 
them  keep  some  share  of  the  milk  they  carried  for  their 
own  food ;  and  then  they  would  run  over  the  white 
lands,  through  the  early  darkness,  bright  and  happy, 
and  burst  with  a  shout  of  joy  into  their  home. 

So,  on  the  whole,  it  was  well  with  them,  very  well ; 
and  Patrasche,  meeting  on  the  highway  or  in  the  public 
streets  the  many  dogs  who  toiled  from  daybreak  into 
nightfall,  paid  only  with  blows  and  curses,  and  loosened 
from  the  shafts  with  a  kick  to  starve  and  freeze  as  best 
they  might — Patrasche  in  his  heart  was  very  grateful 
to  his  fate,  and  thought  it  the  fairest  and  the  kindliest 
the  world  could  hold.  Though  he  was  often  very 
hungry  indeed  when  he  lay  down  at  night ;  though  he 
had  to  work  in  the  heats  of  summer  noons  and  the 
rasping  chills  of  winter  dawns ;  though  his  feet  were 
often  tender  with  wounds  from  the  sharp  edges  of 
the  jagged  pavement ;  though  he  had  to  perform  tasks 
beyond  his  strength  and  against  his  natur« — yet  he 
was  grateful  and  content :  he  did  his  duty  with  each 
day,  and  the  eyes  that  he  loved  smiled  down  on  him. 
It  was  sufficient  for  Patrasche. 

There  was  only  one  thing  which  caused  Patrasche 
any  uneasiness  in  his  life,  and  it  was  this.  Antwerp, 
as  all  the  -vorld  knows,  is  full  at  every  turn  of  old  piles 
of  stones  iark  and  ancient  and  majestic,  standing  in 
crooked  courts,  jammed  against  gateways  and  taverns, 
rising  by  the  water's  edge,  with  bells  ringing  above 
theo  in  the  *dr,  and  ever  and  again  out  of  their  arched 


A   DOG  OF  FLANDERS.  25 

floors  a  swell  of  music  pealing.  There  they  remain, 
the  grand  old  panctuaries  of  the  past,  shut  in  amidst 
the  squalor,  the  hurry,  the  crowds,  the  uulovelinsis,  and 
the  commerce  of  the  modem  world,  and  all  day  long 
the  clouds  di^ift  and  the  birds  circle  and  the  winds  sigh 
around  them,  and  beneath  the  earth  at  their  feci  there 
sleeps — Rubens. 

And  the  greatness  of  the  mighty  Master  still  rests 
upon  Antwerp,  and  wherever  we  turn  in  its  narrow 
streets  his  glory  lies  therein,  so  that  all  mean  things  are 
thereby  transfigured ;  and  as  we  pace  slowly  through 
the  winding  ways,  and  by  the  edge  of  the  stagnant 
water,  and  through  the  noisome  courts,  his  spirit  abides 
with  us,  and  the  heroic  beauty  of  his  visions  is  about 
us,  and  the  stones  that  once  felt  his  footsteps  and  bore 
his  shadow  seem  to  arise  and  speak  of  him  with  living 
voices.  For  the  city  which  is  the  tomb  of  Rubens  still 
lives  to  us  through  him,  and  him  alone. 

It  is  so  quiet  there  by  that  great  white  sepulchre — 
BO  quiet,  save  only  when  the  organ  peals  and  the  choir 
cries  aloud  the  Salve  Regina  or  the  Kyrie  Eleison. 
Sure  no  artist  ever  had  a  greater  gravestone  than  that 
pure  marble  sanctuary  gives  to  him  in  the  heart  of  his 
birthplace  in  the  chancel  of  St.  Jacques. 

Without  Rubens,  what  were  Antwerp?  A  dirty, 
dusky,  bustling  mart,  which  no  man  would  ever  care 
to  look  upon  save  the  traders  who  do  business  on  its 
wharves.  With  Rubens,  to  the  whole  world  of  men 
it  is  a  sacred  name,  a  sacred  soil,  a  Bethlehem  where  a 
god  ol  Art  saw  light,  a  Golgotha  where  a  god  of  Art 
lies  deao. 


26  ^  DOQ   OF  FLANDERS. 

O  nations  1  closely  should  you  treasure  your  great 
men,  for  by  them  alone  will  the  future  know  of  you. 
Flanders  in  her  generations  has  been  wise.  In  his  life 
she  glorified  this  greatest  of  her  sons,  and  in  his  death 
she  magnifies  his  name.    But  her  wisdom  is  very  rare. 

Now,  the  trouble  of  Patrasche  was  this.  Into  these 
great,  sad  piles  of  stones,  that  reared  their  melancholy 
majesty  above  the  crowded  roofs,  the  child  Nello  would 
many  and  many  a  time  enter,  and  disappear  through 
their  dark  arched  portals,  whilst  Patrasche,  left  without 
upon  the  pavement,  would  wearily  and  vainly  ponder 
on  what  could  be  the  charm  which  thus  allured  from 
him  his  inseparable  and  beloved  companion.  Once  or 
twice  he  did  essay  to  see  for  himself,  clattering  up  the 
steps  with  his  milk-cart  behind  him ;  but  thereon  he 
had  been  always  sent  back  again  summarily  by  a  tall 
custodian  in  black  clothes  and  silver  chains  of  office ; 
and  fearful  of  bringing  his  little  master  into  trouble, 
he  desisted,  and  remained  couched  patiently  before  the 
churches  until  such  time  as  the  boy  reappeared.  It 
was  not  the  fact  of  his  going  into  them  which  disturbed 
Patrasche :  he  knew  that  people  went  to  church :  all 
the  village  went  to  the  small,  tumbledown,  gray  pile 
opposite  the  red  windmill.  What  troubled  him  was 
that  little  Nello  always  looked  strangely  when  he  came 
out,  always  very  flushed  or  very  pale ;  and  whenever  he 
returned  home  after  such  visitations  would  sit  silent 
and  dreaming,  not  caring  to  play,  but  gazing  out  at  the 
evening  skies  beyond  the  line  of  the  canal,  very  sub- 
dued  and  almost,  sad. 

What  was  it     ?7ondered  Patrasche.     He  thought  it 


A   DOO   OF  FLANDERS.  27 

could  not  be  good  or  natural  for  the  little  lad  to  be  so 
grave,  and  in  his  dumb  fashion  he  tried  all  he  could  to 
keep  Nello  bj  him  in  the  sunny  fields  or  in  the  busy 
market-place.  But  to  the  churches  Nello  would  go : 
most  often  of  all  would  he  go  to  the  great  cathedral ; 
and  Patrasche,  left  without  on  the  stones  by  the  iron 
fragments  of  Quentin  Matsys's  gate,  would  stretch  him- 
self and  yawn  and  sigh,  and  even  howl  now  and  then, 
all  in  vain,  until  the  doors  closed  and  the  child  perforce 
came  forth  again,  and  winding  his  arms  about  the  dog's 
neck  would  kiss  him  on  his  broad,  tawny-colored  fore- 
head, and  murmur  always  the  same  words  :  "  If  I  could 
only  see  them,  Patrasche  I — if  I  could  only  see  them  I " 

What  were  they?  pondered  P^itrasche,  looking  up 
with  large,  wistful,  sympathetic  eyes. 

One  day,  when  the  custodian  was  out  of  the  way  and 
the  doors  left  ajar,  he  got  in  for  a  moment  after  his  little 
friend  and  saw.  "  They"  were  two  great  covered  pic- 
tures on  either  side  of  the  choir. 

Nello  was  kneeling,  rapt  as  in  an  ecstasy,  before  the 
altar-picture  of  the  Assumption,  and  when  he  noticed 
Patrasche,  and  rose  and  drew  the  dog  gently  out  into 
the  air,  his  face  was  wet  with  tears,  and  he  looked  up 
at  the  veiled  places  as  he  passed  them,  and  murmured 
to  his  companion,  "  It  is  so  terrible  not  to  see  them, 
Patrasche,  just  because  one  is  poor  and  cannot  pay ! 
He  never  meant  that  the  poor  should  not  see  them  when 
he  painted  them,  I  am  sure.  He  would  have  had  us  see 
them  any  da",  every  day  :  that  I  am  sure.  And  they 
ke<»p  them  shrouded  there — shrouded  in  the  dark,  the 
be«utifiil  thnigs  I — ^and  they  never  feel  the  light,  and 


28  A  DOG  OF  FLANDERS. 

no  eye»  look  on  them,  unless  rich  people  come  and  pay 
If  I  could  only  see  them,  I  would  be  content  to  die." 

But  he  could  not  see  them,  and  Patrasche  could  not 
help  him,  for  to  gain  the  silver  piece  that  the  church 
exacts  as  the  price  for  looking  on  the  glories  of  the 
Elevation  of  the  Cross  and  the  Descent  of  the  Cross 
was  a  thing  as  utterly  beyond  the  powers  of  either  of 
them  as  it  would  have  been  to  scale  the  heights  of  the 
cathedral  spire.  They  had  never  so  much  as  a  sou  to 
spare :  if  they  cleared  enough  to  get  a  little  wood  for 
the  stove,  a  little  broth  for  the  pot,  it  was  the  utmost 
they  could  do.  And  yet  the  heart  of  the  child  was  set 
in  sore  and  endless  longing  upon  beholding  the  great- 
ness of  the  two  veiled  llubens. 

The  whole  soul  of  the  little  Ardennois  thrilled  and 
stirred  with  an  absorbing  passion  for  Art.  Going  on 
his  ways  through  the  old  city  in  the  early  days  before 
the  sun  or  the  people  had  risen,  Nello,  who  looked  only 
a  little  peasant-boy,  with  a  great  dog  drawing  milk  to 
sell  from  door  to  door,  was  in  a  heaven  of  dreams 
whereof  E-ubens  was  the  god.  Nello,  cold  and  hungry, 
with  stockingless  feet  in  wooden  shoes,  and  the  winter 
winds  blowing  among  his  curls  and  lifting  his  poor 
thin  garments,  was  in  a  rapture  of  meditation,  wherein 
all  that  he  saw  was  the  beautiful  fair  face  of  the  Mary 
of  the  Assumption,  with  the  waves  of  her  golden  hair 
lying  upon  her  shoulders,  and  the  light  of  an  eternal 
aun  shining  down  upon  her  brow.  Nello,  reared  in 
poverty,  aad  buffsted  by  fortune,  and  untaught  in 
letters  ^nd  untjeeded  by  men,  had  the  compensation  m 
the  curse  which  is  called  Genius. 


A  DOO   OF  FLANDERS.  29 

No  one  knew  it.  He  as  little  as  any.  No  one  knew  it. 
Only  indeed  Patrascbe,  who,  being  with  him  always, 
saw  him  draw  with  chalk  upon  the  stones  any  and 
every  thing  that  grew  or  breathed,  heard  him  on  his 
little  bed  of  hay  murmur  all  manner  of  timid,  pathetic 
prayers  to  the  spirit  of  the  great  Master ;  watched  his 
gaze  darken  and  his  face  radiate  at  the  evening  glow 
of  sunset  or  the  rosy  rising  of  the  dawn ;  and  felt  many 
and  many  a  time  the  tears  of  a  strange,  nameless  pain 
and  joy,  mingled  together,  fall  hotly  from  the  bright 
young  eyes  upon  his  own  wrinkled  yellow  forehead. 

"  I  should  go  to  my  grave  quite  content  if  I  thought, 
Nello,  that  when  thou  growest  a  man  thou  couldst  own 
this  hut  and  the  little  plot  of  ground,  and  labor  for 
thyself,  and  be  called  Baas  by  thy  neighbors,"  said  the 
old  man  Jehan  many  an  hour  from  his  bed.  For  to 
own  a  bit  of  soil,  and  to  be  called  Baas — master — by 
the  hamlet  round,  is  to  have  achieved  the  highest  ideal 
of  a  Flemish  peasant ;  and  the  old  soldier,  who  had 
wandered  over  all  the  earth  in  his  youth,  and  had 
brought  nothing  back,  deemed  in  his  old  age  that  to 
live  and  die  on  one  spot  in  contented  humility  was  the 
feirest  fate  he  could  desire  for  his  darling.  But  Nello 
said  nothing. 

The  same  leaven  was  working  in  him  that  in  othei 
times  begat  Rubens  and  Jordaens  and  the  Van  Eycks, 
and  all  their  wondrous  tribe,  and  in  times  more  recent 
begat  in  the  green  country  of  the  Ardennes,  where  the 
Meuse  washes  the  old  ^'alls  of  Dijon,  the  great  artist 
of  the  Patroclus,  whosft  genius  is  too  near  us  for  us 
anght  to  measure  its  divinity. 


30  ^  DOQ  OF  FLANDERS. 

Nello  dreamed  of  other  things  in  the  future  than  of 
tilling  the  little  rood  of  earth,  and  living  under  the 
wattle  roof,  and  being  called  Baas  by  neighbors  a  little 
poorer  or  a  little  less  poor  than  himself.  The  cathedral 
spire,  where  it  rose  beyond  the  fields  in  the  ruddy 
evening  skies  or  in  the  dim,  gray,  misty  mornings,  said 
other  things  to  him  than  this.  But  these  he  told  only 
to  Patrasche,  whispering,  childlike,  his  fancies  in  the 
dog's  ear  when  they  went  together  at  their  work 
through  the  fogs  of  the  daybreak,  or  lay  together  at 
their  rest  among  the  rustling  rushes  by  the  water's 
side. 

For  such  dreams  are  not  easily  shaped  into  speech 
to  awake  the  slow  sympathies  of  human  auditors  ;  and 
they  would  only  have  sorely  perplexed  and  troubled 
the  poor  old  man  bedridden  in  his  corner,  who,  for  his 
part,  whenever  he  had  trodden  the  streets  of  Antwerp, 
had  thought  the  daub  of  blue  and  red  that  they  called 
a  Madonna,  on  the  walls  of  the  wine-shop  where  he 
drank  his  sou's  worth  of  black  beer,  quite  as  good  as 
any  of  the  famous  altar-pieces  for  which  the  stranger 
folk  travelled  far  and  wide  into  Flanders  from  every 
land  on  which  the  good  sun  shone. 

There  was  only  one  other  beside  Patrasche  to  whom 
Nello  could  talk  at  all  of  his  daring  fantasies.  This 
other  was  little  Alois,  who  lived  at  the  old  red  mill  on 
the  grassy  mound,  and  whose  father,  the  miller,  was 
the  best-to-do  husbandman  in  all  the  village.  Little 
Alois  was  only  a  pretty  baby  with  soft  round,  rosy 
features,  made  lovely  by  those  sweet  dark  eyes  that  the 
Sp'-nisK  rule  has  left  in  so  many  a  Flemish  face,  in 


I^LLO  DHiiW  Turns.  LIKENESS  WITH  A  STICK  OF  CHABCOAL 


A   DOG   OF  FLANDERS.  31 

testimony  of  the  Alvan  dominion,  as  Spanish  art  has 
left  broadsown  throughout  the  country  majestic  palaces 
and  stately  courts,  gilded  house-fronts  and  sculptured 
lintels — histories  in  blazonry  and  poems  in  stone. 

Little  Alois  was  often  with  Nello  and  Patrasche. 
They  played  in  the  fields,  they  ran  in  the  snow,  they 
gathered  the  daisies  and  bilberries,  they  went  up  to  the 
old  gray  church  together,  and  they  often  sat  together 
by  the  broad  wood-fire  in  the  mill-house.  Little  Alois, 
indeed,  was  the  richest  child  in  the  hamlet.  She  had 
neither  brother  nor  sister ;  her  blue  serge  dress  had 
never  a  hole  in  it ;  at  Kermesse  she  had  as  many  gilded 
nuta  and  Agni  Dei  in  sugar  as  her  hands  could  hold ; 
and  when  she  went  up  for  her  first  communion  hei 
flaxen  curls  were  covered  with  a  cap  of  richest  Mechlin 
lace,  which  had  been  her  mother's  and  her  grand- 
mother's before  it  came  to  her.  Men  spoke  already, 
though  she  had  but  twelve  years,  of  the  good  wife  she 
would  be  for  their  sons  to  woo  and  win ;  but  she  her- 
self was  a  little  gay,  simple  child,  in  nowise  conscious 
of  her  heritage,  and  she  loved  no  playfellows  so  well 
as  Jehan  Daas's  grandson  and  his  dog. 

One  day  her  father.  Baas  Cogez,  a  good  man,  but 
somewhat  stem,  came  on  a  pretty  group  in  the  long 
meadow  behind  the  mill,  where  the  aftermath  had  that 
day  been  cut.  It  was  his  little  daughter  sitting  amidst 
the  hay,  with  the  great  tawny  head  of  Patrasche  on 
her  lap,  and  many  wreaths  of  poppies  and  blue  corn- 
flow  9rj  round  them  both :  on  a  clean  smooth  slab  of 
pine  wood  the  boy  Nel'o  drew  their  likeness  with  «« 
stick  of  charcoal 


32  A  DOO  OF  FLANDERS. 

The  miller  stood  and  looked  at  the  portrait  with 
tears  m  his  eyes,  it  was  so  strangely  like,  and  he  loved 
his  only  child  closely  and  well.  Then  he  roughly  chid 
the  little  girl  for  idling  there  whilst  her  mother  needed 
her  within,  and  sent  her  indoors  crying  and  afraid : 
then,  turning,  he  snatched  the  wood  from  Nello's  hands. 
"  Dost  do  much  of  such  folly  ?"  he  asked,  but  there 
was  a  tremble  in  his  voice. 

Nello  colored  and  hung  his  head.  "  I  draw  every- 
thing I  see,"  he  murmured. 

The  miller  was  silent :  then  he  stretched  his  hand 
out  with  a  franc  in  it.  "  It  is  folly,  as  I  say,  and  evil 
waste  of  time :  nevertheless,  it  is  like  Alois,  and  will 
please  the  house-mother.  Take  this  silver  bit  for  it 
and  leave  it  for  me." 

The  color  died  out  of  the  face  of  the  young  Ai'den- 
nois ;  he  lifted  his  head  and  put  his  hands  behind  his 
back.  "  Keep  your  money  and  the  portrait  both.  Baas 
Cogez,"  he  said,  simply.  "  You  have  been  often  good 
to  me."  Then  he  called  Patrasche  to  him,  and  walked 
away  across  the  field. 

"  I  could  have  seen  them  with  that  franc,"  he  mur- 
mured to  Patrasche,  "  but  I  could  not  sell  her  picture — 
not  even  for  them." 

Bass  Cogez  went  into  his  mill-house  sore  troubled  in 
his  mind.  "  That  lad  must  not  be  so  much  with  Alois," 
he  said  to  his  wife  that  night.  "  Trouble  may  come 
of  it  hereafter :  he  is  fifteen  now,  and  she  is  twelve ; 
and  the  boy  is  ccmely  of  face  and  form." 

"  And  he  is  a  good  lad  and  a  loyal,"  said  the  house- 
wife f -casting  her  eyes  on  the  piece  of  pine  wood  where 


A  DOG  OF  FLANDERS.  33 

it  was  throned  above  the  chimney  with  a  cuckoo  clock 
is  oak  and  a  Calvary  in  wax. 

"  Yea,  I  do  not  gainsay  that,"  said  the  miller,  drain- 
ing his  pewter  flagon. 

"  Then,  if  what  you  think  of  were  ever  to  come  to 
pass,"  said  the  wife,  hesitatingly,  "  would  it  matter  so 
much  ?  She  will  have  enough  for  both,  and  one  cannot 
be  better  than  happy." 

"  You  are  a  woman,  and  therefore  a  fool,"  said  the 
miller,  harshly,  striking  his  pipe  on  the  table.  "  The 
lad  is  naught  but  a  beggar,  and,  with  these  painter's 
fancies,  worse  than  a  beggar.  Have  a  care  that  the; 
are  not  together  in  the  iuture,  or  I  will  send  the  child! 
to  the  surer  keeping  of  the  nuns  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 

The  poor  mother  was  terrified,  and  promised  humbly 
to  do  his  will.  Not  that  she  could  bring  herself  alto- 
gether to  separate  the  child  from  her  favorite  playmate, 
nor  did  the  miller  even  desire  that  extreme  of  cruelty 
to  a  young  lad  who  was  guilty  of  nothing  except  pov- 
erty. But  there  were  many  ways  in  which  little  Alois 
was  kept  away  from  her  chosen  companion ;  and  Nello, 
being  a  boy  proud  and  quiet  and  sensitive,  was  quickly 
wounded,  and  ceased  to  turn  his  own  steps  and  those  of 
Patrasche,  as  he  had  been  used  to  do  with  every  mo- 
ment of  leisure,  to  the  old  red  mill  upon  the  slope. 
What  his  offence  was  he  did  not  know :  he  supposed 
he  had  in  some  manner  angered  Baas  Cogez  by  taking 
the  portrait  of  Alois  in  the  meadow ;  and  when  the 
child  who  loved  him  would  run  to  him  and  nestle  her 
hand  in  his,  he  would  smile  at  her  very  sadly  and 
3ay  with    a  tender   concern    for   her   before   himself 


34  ^   DOG   OF  FLANDERS. 

"Nay,  Alois,  do  not  anger  your  father.  He  thinks 
that  I  make  you  idle,  dear,  and  he  is  not  pleased  thai 
you  should  be  with  me.  He  is  a  good  man  and  loves 
you  well :  we  will  not  anger  him,  Alois." 

But  it  was  with  a  sad  heart  that  he  said  it,  and  tiit 
earth  did  not  look  so  bright  to  him  as  it  had  used  to  du 
when  he  went  out  at  sunrise  under  the  poplars  down 
the  straight  roads  with  Patrasche.  The  old  red  mill 
had  been  a  landmark  to  him,  and  he  had  been  used  to 
pause  by  it,  going  and  coming,  for  a  cheery  greeting 
with  its  people  as  her  little  flaxen  head  rose  above  the 
low  mill-Arvicket,  and  her  little  rosy  hands  had  held  out 
a  bone  or  a  crust  to  Patrasche.  Now  the  dog  looked 
wistfully  at  a  closed  door,  and  the  boy  went  on  without 
pausing,  with  a  pang  at  his  heart,  and  the  child  sat 
within  with  tears  dropping  slowly  on  the  knitting  to 
which  she  was  set  on  her  little  stool  by  the  stove ;  and 
Baas  Cogez,  working  among  his  sacks  and  his  mill-gear, 
would  harden  his  will  and  say  to  himself,  "  It  is  best 
80.  The  lad  is  all  but  a  beggar,  and  full  of  idle, 
dreaming  fooleries.  Who  knows  what  mischief  might 
not  come  of  it  in  the  future  ?"  So  he  was  wise  in  his 
generation,  and  would  not  have  the  door  unbarred, 
except  upon  rare  and  formal  occasions,  which  seemed 
to  have  neither  warmth  nor  mirth  in  them  to  the  two 
children,  who  had  been  accustomed  so  long  to  a  daily 
gleeful,  careless,  happy  interchange  of  greeting,  speech, 
and  pastime,  with  no  other  watcher  of  their  sports  or 
auditor  of  their  fancies  than  Patrasche,  sagely  shaking 
the  brazen  bells  of  his  collar  and  responding  with  all 
a  dog's  swift  sympathies  to  their  every  change  of  mood 


A  DOG   OF  FLANDERS.  35 

All  this  while  the  little  panel  of  pine  wood  remained 
over  the  chimney  in  the  mill-kitchen  with  the  cuckoo 
clock  and  the  waxen  Calvary,  and  sometimes  it  seemed 
to  Nello  a  little  hard  that  whilst  his  gift  was  accepted 
he  himself  should  be  denied. 

But  he  did  not  complain :  it  was  his  habit  to  be 
quiet :  old  Jehan  Paas  had  said  ever  to  him,  "  We  are 
poor :  we  must  take  what  God  sends — the  ill  with  the 
good  :  the  poor  cannot  choose." 

To  which  the  boy  had  always  listened  in  silence,  be- 
ing reverent  of  his  old  grandfather ;  but  nevertheless 
a  certain  vague,  sweet  hope,  such  as  beguiles  the  chil- 
dren of  genius,  had  whispered  in  his  heart,  "  Yet  the 
poor  do  choose  sometimes — choose  to  be  great,  so  that 
men  cannot  say  them  nay."  And  he  thought  so  still 
in  his  innocence ;  and  one  day,  when  the  little  Alois, 
finding  him  by  chance  alone  among  the  cornfields  by  the 
canal,  ran  to  him  and  held  him  close,  and  sobbed  pite- 
ously  because  the  morrow  would  be  her  saint's  day,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  all  her  hfe  her  parents  had  failed 
to  bid  him  to  the  little  supper  and  romp  in  the  great 
bams  with  which  her  feast-day  was  always  celebrated, 
Nello  had  kissed  her  and  murmured  to  her  in  firm 
faith,  "  It  shall  be  different  one  day,  Alois.  One  day 
that  little  bit  of  pine  wood  that  your  father  has  of  mine 
shall  be  worth  its  weight  in  silver  ;  and  he  will  not  shut 
the  door  against  me  then.  Only  love  me  always,  dear 
little  Alois,  only  love  me  always,  and  I  will  be  great.'* 

"And  if  I  do  not  love  you?  "  the  pretty  child  asked, 
pouting  a  little  through  her  tears,  and  moved  by  the 
instinctive  coquetries  of  hei  sex. 


36  A  DOG  OF  FLANDERS. 

Nello's  eyes  left  her  face  and  wandered  to  the  dis- 
tance, where  in  the  red  and  gold  of  the  Flemish  night 
the  cathedral  spire  rose.  There  was  a  smile  on  his  face 
80  sweet  and  yet  so  sad  that  little  Alois  was  awed  by  it. 
"  I  will  be  great  still,"  he  said  under  his  breath — "great 
still,  or  die,  Alois." 

"You  do  not  love  me,"  said  the  little  spoilt  child, 
pushing  him  away ;  but  the  boy  shook  his  head  and 
smiled,  and  went  on  his  way  through  the  tall  yellow 
com,  seeing  as  in  a  vision  some  day  in  a  fair  future  when 
he  should  come  into  that  old  familiar  land  and  ask 
Alois  of  her  people,  and  be  not  refused  or  denied,  but 
received  in  honor,  whilst  the  village  folk  should  throng 
to  look  upon  him  and  say  in  one  another^s  ears,  "  Dost 
see  him  ?  He  is  a  king  among  men,  for  he  is  a  great 
artist  and  the  world  speaks  his  name ;  and  yet  he  was 
only  our  poor  little  Nello,  who  was  a  beggar,  as  one 
may  say,  and  only  got  his  bread  by  the  help  of  his  dog." 
And  he  thought  how  he  would  fold  his  grandsire  in 
furs  and  purples,  and  portray  him  as  the  old  man  is 
portrayed  in  the  Family  in  the  chapel  of  St.  Jacques ; 
and  of  how  he  would  hang  the  throat  of  Patrasche  with 
a  collar  of  gold,  and  place  him  on  his  right  hand,  and 
say  to  the  people,  "  This  was  once  my  only  friend ;" 
and  of  how  he  would  build  himself  a  great  white  mar- 
ble palace,  and  make  to  himself  luxuriant  gardens  of 
pleasure,  on  the  slope  looking  outward  to  where  the 
cathedral  spire  rose,  and  not  dwell  in  it  himsel^,  but 
summon  to  it,  as  to  a  home,  all  men  young  and  poor 
and  friendless,  but  of  the  will  to  do  mighty  things ;  and 
of  how  he  would  B&}  to  them  always,  if  they  sought  tc 


A   DOG   OF  FLANDERS.  87 

bless  his  name,  "  Nay,  do  not  thank  me — thank  Rubens. 
Without  him,  what  should  I  have  been  ?"  And  these 
dreams,  beautiful,  impossible,  innocent,  free  of  all  sel- 
fishness, full  of  heroical  worship,  were  so  closely  about 
him  as  he  went  that  he  was  happy — happy  even  on 
this  sad  anniversary  of  Alois's  saint's  day,  when  he 
and  Patrasche  went  home  by  themselves  to  tlie  little 
dark  hut  and  the  meal  of  black  bread,  whilst  in  the 
mill-house  all  the  children  of  the  village  sang  and 
laughed,  and  ate  the  big  round  cakes  of  Dijon  and  the 
almond  gingerbread  of  Brabant,  and  danced  in  the 
great  barn  to  the  light  of  the  stars  and  the  music  of 
flute  and  fiddle. 

"Never  mind,  Patrasche,"  he  said,  with  his  arms 
round  the  dog's  neck  as  they  both  sat  in  the  door  of 
the  hut,  where  the  sounds  of  the  mirth  at  the  mill  came 
down  to  them  on  the  night  air — "  never  mind.  It  shall 
all  be  changed  by  and  by." 

He  believed  in  the  future :  Patrasche,  of  more  ex- 
perience and  of  more  philosophy,  thought  that  the  loss 
of  the  mill  supper  in  the  present  was  ill  compensated  by 
dreams  of  milk  and  honey  in  some  vague  hereafter.  And 
Patrasche  growled  whenever  he  passed  by  Baas  Cogez. 

"  This  is  Alois's  name-day,  is  it  not  ?"  said  the  old 
man  Daas  that  night  from  the  corner  where  he  was 
stretched  upon  his  bed  of  sacking. 

The  boy  gave  a  gesture  of  assent :  he  wished  that 
the  aid  man's  memory  had  erred  a  little,  instead  of 
keeping  such  sure  account. 

"And  why  cot  there?"  his  grandfather  pursued 
Thou  hasfc  never  missed  a  year  before,  Nello  " 


38  ^  DOa   OF  FLANDERS. 

"Thou  art  too  sick  to  leave,"  murmured  the  lad, 
bending  his  handsome  young  head  over  the  bed. 

"  Tut  I  tut !  Mother  Nulette  would  have  come  and 
sat  with  me,  as  she  does  scores  of  times.  What  is  the 
cause,  Nello ?"  the  old  man  persisted.  "Thou  surely 
hast  not  had  ill  words  with  the  little  one  ?" 

"Nay,  grandfather — never,"  said  the  boy  quickly, 
with  a  hot  color  in  his  bent  face.  "  Simply  and  truly, 
Baas  Cogez  did  not  have  me  asked  this  year.  He  has 
taken  some  whim  against  me." 

"  But  thou  hast  done  nothing  wrong  ?" 

"That  I  know — nothing.  I  took  the  portrait  of 
Alois  on  a  piece  of  pine  :  that  is  all." 

"  Ah  !"  The  old  man  was  silent :  the  truth  suggested 
itself  to  him  with  the  boy's  innocent  answer.  He  was 
tied  to  a  bed  of  dried  leaves  in  the  corner  of  a  wattle 
hut,  but  he  had  not  wholly  forgotten  what  the  ways  oi 
the  world  were  like. 

He  drew  Nello's  fair  head  fondly  to  his  breast  with 
a  tenderer  gesture.  "  Thou  art  very  poor,  my  child," 
he  said  with  a  quiver  the  more  in  his  aged,  trembling 
voice — "  so  poor  !     It  is  very  hard  for  thee." 

"  Nay,  I  am  rich,"  murmured  Nello ;  and  in  his 
innocence  he  thought  so — rich  with  the  imperishable 
powers  that  are  mightier  than  the  might  of  kings.  And 
he  went  and  stood  by  the  door  of  the  hut  in  the  quiet 
autumn  night,  and  watched  the  stars  troop  by  and  the 
tall  poplars  bend  and  shiver  in  the  wind.  All  the 
casements  oi  the  mill"  -house  were  lighted,  and  every 
now  and  thea  the  notes  of  the  flute  came  to  him.  The 
tears  fell  down  his  cheeks,  for  he  was  but  a  child,  yet 


A  DOG   OF  FLANDERS.  39 

he  smiled,  for  he  said  to  himself,  "  In  the  future  I"  tie 
stayed  there  until  all  was  quite  still  and  dark,  then  he 
and  Patrasche  went  within  and  slept  together,  long  and 
deeply,  side  by  side. 

Now  he  had  a  secret  which  only  Patrasche  knew. 
There  was  a  little  out-house  to  the  hut,  which  no  one 
entered  but  himself — a  dreary  place,  but  with  abundant 
clear  light  from  the  north.  Here  he  had  fashioned 
himself  rudely  an  easel  in  rough  lumber,  and  here  on 
a  great  gray  sea  of  stretched  paper  he  had  given  shape 
to  one  of  the  innumerable  fancies  which  possessed  his 
brain.  No  one  had  ever  taught  him  anything ;  colors 
he  had  no  means  to  buy ;  he  had  gone  without  bread 
many  a  time  to  procure  even  the  few  rude  vehicles  that 
he  had  here ;  and  it  was  only  lq  black  or  white  that  he 
could  fashion  the  things  he  saw.  This  great  figure 
which  he  had  drawn  here  in  chalk  was  only  au  old  man 
sitting  on  a  fallen  tree — only  that.  He  had  seen  old 
Michel  the  woodman  sitting  so  at  evening  many  a  time. 
He  had  never  had  a  soul  to  tell  him  of  outline  or 
perspective,  of  anatomy  or  of  shadow,  and  yet  he  had 
given  all  the  weary,  worn-out  age,  all  the  sad,  quiet 
patience,  all  the  rugged,  careworn  pathos  of  his  orig- 
inal, and  given  them  so  that  the  old  lonely  figure  was 
a  poem,  sitting  there,  meditative  and  alone,  on  the  dead 
tree,  with  the  darkness  of  the  descending  night  behind 
him. 

It  ^as  rude,  tjf  course,  in  a  way,  and  had  many 
faults^  ao  douDt ;  and  yet  it  was  real,  true  in  nature, 
true  in  art  and  very  mournful,  and  in  a  mannei 
beautiful 


40  A  DOa  OF  FLANDERS. 

Patrasche  had  lain  quiet  countless  hours  watching 
its  gradual  creation  after  the  labor  of  each  day  was 
done,  and  he  knew  that  Nello  had  a  hope — vain  and 
wild  perhaps,  but  strongly  cherished— of  sending  this 
great  drawing  to  compete  for  a  prize  of  two  hundred 
francs  a  year  which  it  was  announced  in  Antwerp  would 
be  open  to  every  lad  of  talent,  scholar  or  peasant, 
under  eighteen,  who  would  attempt  to  win  it  with  some 
unaided  work  of  chalk  or  pencil.  Three  of  the  fore- 
most artists  in  the  town  of  Rubens  were  to  be  the 
judges  and  elect  the  victor  according  to  his  merits. 

All  the  spring  and  summer  and  autumn  Nello  had 
been  at  work  upon  this  treasure,  which,  if  triumph- 
ant, would  build  him  his  first  step  toward  indepen- 
dence and  the  mysteries  of  the  art  which  he  blindly, 
ignorantly,  and  yet  passionately  adored. 

He  said  nothing  to  any  one  :  his  grand&ther  would 
not  have  understood,  and  little  Alois  was  lost  to  him. 
Only  to  Patrasche  he  told  all,  and  whispered,  *'  Rubens 
would  give  it  me,  I  think,  if  he  knew." 

Patrasche  thought  so  too,  for  he  knew  that  Rubens 
had  loved  dogs  or  he  had  never  painted  them  with  such 
bxquisite  fidelity ;  and  men  who  loved  dogs  were,  as 
Patrasche  knew,  always  pitiful. 

The  drawings  were  to  go  in  on  the  first  day  of 
December,  and  the  decision  be  given  on  the  twenty- 
fourth,  so  that  hi  who  should  win  might  rejoice  wilh 
all  his  people  at  the  Christmas  season. 

In  the  twilight  of  a  bitter  wintry  day,  and  with  a 
beating 'heart,  now  quick  with  hope,  now  faint  with 
fear  i^ello  placed  the  great  picture  on  his  little  green 


A  DOO  OF  FLANDERS.  41. 

milk -cart,  and  took  it,  with  the  help  of  Patrasche,  into 
the  town,  and  there  left  it,  as  enjoined,  at  the  doors  of 
a  public  building. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  worth  nothing  at  all.  How  can  I 
tell  ?"  he  thought,  with  the  heart-sickness  of  a  great 
timidity.  Now  that  he  had  left  it  there,  it  seemed  to 
him  so  hazardous,  so  vain,  so  foolish,  to  dream  that  he, 
a  little  lad  with  bare  feet,  who  bai-ely  knew  his  letters, 
could  do  anything  at  which  great  painters,  real  artists, 
could  ever  deign  to  look.  Yet  he  took  heart  as  he 
went  by  the  cathedral :  the  lordly  form  of  Rubens 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  fog  and  the  darkness,  and  to 
loom  iu  its  magnificence  before  him,  whilst  the  lips, 
with  their  kindly  smile,  seemed  to  him  to  murmur, 
"  Nay,  have  courage  !  It  was  not  by  a  weak  heart  and 
by  faint  fears  that  I  wrote  my  name  for  all  time  upon 
Antwerp." 

Nello  ran  home  through  the  cold  night,  comforted. 
He  had  done  his  best :  the  rest  must  be  as  God  willed, 
he  thought,  in  that  innocent,  unquestioning  faith  which 
had  been  taught  him  in  the  little  gray  chapel  among 
the  willows  and  the  poplar-trees. 

The  winter  was  very  sharp  already.  That  night, 
aft«r  they  reached  the  hut,  snow  fell ;  and  fell  for  very 
many  days  after  that,  so  that  the  paths  and  the  divisions 
in  the  fields  were  all  obliterated,  and  all  the  smaller 
streams  were  frcaen  over,  and  the  cold  was  intense 
upon  the  plains.  Then,  indeed,  it  became  hard  work 
to  go  rou.nd  for  the  milk  while  the  world  was  all  dark, 
and  carry  it  through  the  darkness  to  the  silent  town. 
Flard  work,  especially  for  Patrasche,  for  the  passage 


42  A  DOG   OF  FLANDERS 

of  the  years,  that  were  only  bringing  Nello  a  strongej 
youth,  were  bringing  him  old  age,  and  his  joints  were 
stiff  and  his  bones  ached  often.  But  he  would  never 
give  up  his  share  of  the  labor.  Nello  would  fain  have 
spared  him  and  drawn  the  cart  himself,  but  Patrasche 
would  not  allow  it.  All  he  would  ever  permit  or  ac- 
cept was  the  help  of  a  thrust  from  behind  to  the  truck 
as  it  lumbered  along  through  the  ice-ruts.  Patrasche 
had  lived  in  harness,  and  he  was  proud  of  it.  He 
suffered  a  great  deal  sometimes  from  frost,  and  the 
terrible  roads,  and  the  rheumatic  pains  of  his  limbs, 
but  he  only  drew  his  breath  hard  and  bent  his  stout 
neck,  and  trod  onward  with  steady  patience. 

"  Rest  thee  at  home,  Patrasche — it  is  time  thou  didst 
rest — and  I  can  quite  well  push  in  the  cart  by  myself," 
urged  Nello  many  a  morning;  but  Patrasche,  who 
understood  him  aright,  would  no  more  have  consented 
to  stay  at  home  than  a  veteran  soldier  to  shirk  when 
the  charge  was  sounding ;  and  every  day  he  would  rise 
and  place  himself  in  his  shafts,  and  plod  along  over 
the  snow  through  the  fields  that  his  four  round  feet  had 
left  their  print  upon  so  many,  many  years. 

"One  must  never  rest  till  one  dies,"  thought  Pa- 
trasche ;  and  sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  that  that  time 
of  rest  for  him  was  not  very  far  off.  His  sight  was  less 
clear  than  it  had  been,  and  it  gave  him  pain  to  rise 
after  the  night's  sleep,  though  he  would  never  lie  a 
moment  in  his  straw  when  once  the  bell  of  the  chapel 
tollmg  five  let  him  know  that  the  daybreak  of  labor 
had  begut. 

**  My  po*;r  Patrasche,  we  shall  soon  lie  quiet  together, 


A   DOQ   OF  FLANDERS.  43 

you  and  I,"  said  old  Jehan  Daas,  stretching  out  to 
stroke  the  head  of  Patrasche  with  the  old  withered 
hand  which  had  always  shared  with  him  its  one  poor 
erust  of  bread ;  and  the  hearts  of  the  old  man  and  the 
old  dog  ached  together  with  one  thought :  When  they 
were  gone,  who  would  care  for  their  darling? 

One  afternoon,  as  they  came  back  from  Antwerp  over 
the  snow,  which  had  become  hard  and  smooth  as  mar- 
ble over  all  the  Flemish  plains,  they  found  dropped  in 
the  road  a  pretty  little  puppet,  a  tambourine-player, 
all  scarlet  and  gold,  about  six  inches  high,  and,  unlike 
greater  personages  when  Fortune  lets  them  drop,  quite 
unspoiled  and  unhurt  by  its  fall.  It  waa  a  pretty  toy. 
Nello  tried  to  find  its  owner,  and,  failing,  thought  that 
it  waa  just  the  thing  to  please  Alois. 

It  was  quite  night  when  he  passed  the  mill-house : 
he  knew  the  little  window  of  her  room.  It  could  be 
no  harm,  he  thought,  if  he  gave  her  his  little  piece 
of  treasure-trove,  they  had  been  playfellows  so  long. 
There  was  a  shed  with  a  sloping  roof  beneath  her  case- 
ment :  he  climbed  it  and  tapped  softly  at  the  lattice : 
there  was  a  little  light  within.  The  child  opened  it 
and  looked  out  half  frightened. 

Nello  put  the  tambourine-player  into  her  hands. 
"  Here  is  a  doll  I  found  in  the  snow,  Alois.  Take  it," 
he  whispered — "  take  it,  and  God  bless  thee,  dear  !" 

He  slid  down  from  the  shed-roof  before  she  had  time 
to  thank  him,  and  ran  oif  through  the  darkness. 

That  night  there  was  a  fire  at  the  mill.  Out-build- 
'ngs  %3d  much  corn  were  destroyed,  although  the  mill 
'tseii  and  the  dwelling-house  were  unharmed.    All  the 


44  A  DOG   OF  FLANDERS. 

village  was  out  in  terror,  and  engines  came  tearing 
through  the  snow  from  Antwerp.  The  miller  was 
insured,  and  would  lose  nothing :  nevertheless,  he  was 
in  furious  wrath,  and  declared  aloud  that  the  fire  was 
due  to  no  accident,  but  to  some  foul  intent. 

Nello,  awakened  from  his  sleep,  ran  to  help  with  the 
rest :  Baas  Cogez  thrust  him  angrily  aside.  "  Thou 
wert  loitering  here  after  dark,"  he  said  roughly.  "  I 
believe,  on  my  soul,  that  thou  dost  know  more  of  the 
fire  than  any  one." 

Nello  heard  him  in  silence,  stupefied,  not  supposing 
that  any  one  could  say  such  things  except  in  jest,  and 
not  comprehending  how  any  one  could  pass  a  jest  at 
such  a  time. 

Nevertheless,  the  miller  said  the  brutal  thing  openly 
to  many  of  his  neighbors  in  the  day  that  followed  ;  and 
though  no  serious  charge  was  ever  preferred  against  the 
lad,  it  got  bruited  about  that  Nello  had  been  seen  in 
the  mill-yard  afl>er  dark  on  some  unspoken  errand,  and 
that  he  bore  Baas  Cogez  a  grudge  for  forbidding  his 
intercourse  with  little  Alois  ;  and  so  the  hamlet,  which 
followed  the  sayings  of  its  richest  landowner  servilely, 
and  whose  families  all  hoped  to  secure  the  riches  of 
Alois  in  some  future  time  for  their  sons,  took  the  hint 
to  give  grave  looks  and  cold  words  to  old  Jehan  Daas's 
grandson.  No  one  said  anything  to  him  openly,  but 
ill  the  village  agreed  together  to  humor  the  miller^s 
prejudice,  and  at  the  cottages  and  farms  where  Nello 
and  Patrasche  called  every  morning  for  the  milk  for 
A-utwerp,  downcast  glaucea  and  brief  phrases  replaced 
to  them  the  broad  smiles  and  cheerful  greetings  to 


A  DOG   OF  FLANDERS.  45 

U'hich  they  had  been  always  used.  No  one  really  cred- 
ited the  miller's  absurd  suspicion,  nor  the  outrageous 
accusations  born  of  them,  but  the  people  were  all  very 
poor  and  very  ignorant,  and  the  one  rich  man  of  the 
place  had  pronounced  against  him.  Nello,  in  his  inno- 
cence and  his  friendlessness,  had  no  strength  to  stem 
the  popular  tide. 

"  Thou  art  very  cruel  to  the  lad,"  the  millei^'s  wife 
dared  to  say,  weeping,  to  her  lord.  "  Sure  he  is  an  in- 
nocent lad  and  a  faithful,  and  would  never  dream  of 
any  such  wickedness,  however  sore  his  heart  might  be." 

But  Baas  Cogez  being  an  obstinate  man,  having  once 
said  a  thing  held  to  it  doggedly,  thougli  in  his  innermost 
soul  he  knew  well  the  injustice  that  he  was  committing. 

Meanwhile,  Nello  endured  the  injury  done  against 
him  with  a  certain  proud  patience  that  disdained  to 
complain  :  he  only  gave  way  a  little  when  he  was  quite 
alone  with  old  Patrasche.  Besides,  he  thought,  "  If  it 
should  win  !     They  will  be  sorry  then,  perhaps." 

Still,  to  a  boy  not  quite  sixteen,  and  who  had  dwelt 
in  one  little  world  all  his  short  life,  and  in  his  child- 
hood had  been  caressed  and  applauded  on  all  sides,  it 
was  a  hard  trial  to  have  the  whole  of  that  little  world 
turn  against  him  for  naught.  Especially  hard  in  that 
bleak,  snow-bound,  famine-stricken  winter-time,  when 
the  only  light  and  warmth  there  could  be  found  abode 
beside  tlie  village  hearths  and  in  the  kindly  greetings 
of  neighbors.  In  the  winter-time  all  drew  nearer  to 
each  other,  all  to  all,  except  to  Nello  and  Patrasche, 
with  whom  none  now  would  have  anything  to  do,  and 
who  were  left  to  *are  as  they  might,  with  the  old  para- 


46  A   DOG   OF  FLANDERS. 

lyzed,  bedi'idden  man  in  the  little  cabin,  whose  fire  was 
often  low,  and  whose  board  was  often  without  biead, 
for  there  was  a  buyer  from  Antwerp  who  had  taken  to 
drive  his  mule  in  of  a  day  for  the  milk  of  the  various 
dairies,  and  there  were  only  three  or  four  of  the 
people  who  had  refused  his  terms  of  purchase  and  re- 
mained faithful  to  the  little  green  cart.  So  that  the 
burden  which  Patrasche  drew  had  become  very  light, 
and  the  centime-pieces  in  Nello's  pouch  had  become, 
alas !  very  small  likewise. 

The  dog  would  stop,  as  usual,  at  all  the  familiar 
gates  which  were  now  closed  to  him,  and  look  up  at 
them  with  wistful,  mute  appeal ;  and  it  cost  the  neigh- 
bors a  pang  to  shut  their  doors  and  their  hearts,  and  let 
Patrasche  draw  his  cart  on  again,  empty.  Nevertheless, 
they  did  it,  for  they  desired  to  please  Baas  Cogez. 

Noel  was  close  at  hand. 

The  weather  was  very  wild  and  cold.  The  snow 
was  six  feet  deep,  and  the  ice  was  nrm  enough  to  bear 
oxen  and  men  upon  it  everywhere.  At  this  season  the 
little  village  was  always  gay  and  cheerful.  At  the 
poorest  dwelling  there  were  possets  and  cakes,  joking 
and  dancing,  sugared  saints  and  gilded  J&us.  The 
merry  Flemish  bells  jingled  everywhere  on  the  horses ; 
everywhere  within  doors  some  well-filled  soup-pot  sang 
and  smoked  over  the  stove  ;  and  everywhere  over  the 
snow  without  laughing  maidens  pattered  in  bright 
kerchiefs  and  stout  kirtles,  going  to  and  from  the  mass. 
Only  in  trie  little  hut  it  was  very  dark  and  very  cold. 

Nello  and  Patrasche  were  left  utterly  alone,  for  one 
night  It.  the  week  before  the  Christmas  Day,  Death 


A  DOG   OF  FLANDERS.  47 

entered  there,  and  took  away  from  life  forever  old 
Jehan  Daas,  who  had  never  known  of  life  aught  aave 
its  poverty  and  its  pains.  He  had  long  been  half  dead, 
incapable  of  any  movement  except  a  feeble  gesture,  and 
powerless  for  anything  beyond  a  gentle  word ;  and  yet 
his  loss  fell  on  them  both  with  a  great  horror  in  it : 
they  mourned  him  passionately.  He  had  passed  away 
from  them  in  his  sleep,  and  when  in  the  gray  dawn 
they  learned  their  bereavement,  unutterable  solitude  and 
desolation  seemed  to  close  around  them.  He  had  long 
been  only  a  poor,  feeble,  paralyzed  old  man,  who  could 
not  raise  a  hand  in  their  defence,  but  he  had  loved 
them  well :  his  smile  had  always  welcomed  their  return. 
They  mourned  for  him  unceasingly,  refusing  to  be 
comforted,  as  in  the  white  winter  day  they  followed  the 
deal  shell  that  held  his  body  to  the  nameless  grave  by 
the  little  gray  church.  They  were  his  only  mourners, 
these  two  whom  he  had  left  friendless  upon  earth — the 
young  boy  and  the  old  dog. 

"  Surely,  he  will  relent  now  and  let  the  poor  lad  come 
hither?"  thought  the  miller's  wife,  glancing  at  her 
husband  where  he  smoked  by  the  hearth. 

Baas  Cogez  knew  her  thought,  but  he  hardened  his 
heart,  and  would  not  unbar  his  door  as  the  little, 
humble  funeral  went  by.  "  The  boy  is  a  beggar,"  he 
said  to  himself:  "  he  shall  not  be  about  Alois." 

The  woman  dared  not  say  anything  aloud,  but  when 
the  grave  was  closed  and  the  mourners  had  gone,  she 
put  a  wreath  of  immortelles  into  Alois's  hands  and 
bade  her  g-  and  lay  it  reverently  on  the  dark,  unmarked 
mound  where  the  snow  was  displaced. 


48  A  DOe  OF  FLANDERS. 

Nello  and  Patrasche  went  home  with  broken  hearten 
But  even  of  that  poor,  melancholy,  cheerless  home 
they  were  denied  the  consolation.  There  was  a  month's 
rent  over-due  for  their  little  home,  and  when  Nello  had 
paid  the  last  sad  service  to  the  dead  he  had  not  a  coin 
left.  He  went  and  begged  grace  of  the  owner  of  the 
Hut,  a  cobbler  who  went  every  Sunday  night  to  drink 
his  pint  of  wine  and  smoke  with  Baas  Cogez.  The 
cobbler  would  grant  no  mercy.  He  was  a  harsh, 
miserly  man,  and  loved  money.  He  claimed  in  default 
of  his  rent  every  stick  and  stone,  every  pot  and  pan, 
in  the  hut,  and  bade  Nello  and  Patrasche  be  out  of  it 
on  the  morrow. 

Now,  the  cabin  was  lowly  enough,  and  in  some  sense 
miserable  enough,  and  yet  their  hearts  clove  to  it  with 
a  great  affection.  They  had  been  so  happy  there,  and 
in  the  summer,  with  its  clambering  vine  and  its  flower- 
ing beans,  it  was  so  pretty  and  bright  in  the  midst  of 
the  sun-lighted  fields  !  There  life  in  it  had  been  full 
of  labor  and  privation,  and  yet  they  had  been  so  well 
content,  so  gay  of  heart,  running  together  to  meet  the 
old  man's  never- failing  smile  of  welcome  I 

All  night  long  the  boy  and  the  dog  sat  by  the  fire- 
less  hearth  in  the  darkness,  drawn  close  together  for 
warmth  and  sorrow.  Their  bodies  were  insensible  to 
the  cold,  but  their  heai*ts  seemed  frozen  in  them. 

When  the  morning  broke  over  the  white,  chill  earth 
it  was  the  morning  of  Christmas  Eve.  With  a  shud- 
der, Nello  clasped  close  to  him  his  only  ft-iend,  whUe 
his  tears  feL  kot  and  fast  on  the  dog's  frank  forehead, 
"Let  us  go    Patrasche— dear,   dear  Patrasche/*   he 


A   DOO   OF  FLANDERS.  49 

murmured.  "  We  will  not  wait  to  be  kicked  out :  let 
us  go." 

Patrasche  had  no  will  but  his,  and  they  went  sadly, 
side  by  side,  out  from  the  little  place  which  was  so  dear 
to  them  both,  and  in  which  every  humble,  homely 
thing  was  to  them  precious  and  beloved.  Patrasche 
drooped  his  head  wearily  as  he  passed  by  his  own  green 
cart :  it  was  no  longer  his — it  had  to  go  with  the  rest 
to  pay  the  rent,  and  his  brass  harness  lay  idle  and 
glittering  on  the  snow.  The  dog  could  have  lain  down 
beside  it  and  died  for  very  heart-sickness  as  he  went, 
but  whilst  the  lad  lived  and  needed  him  Patrasche 
would  not  yield  and  give  way. 

They  took  the  old  accustomed  road  into  Antwerp. 
The  day  had  yet  scarce  more  than  dawned,  most  of  the 
shutters  were  still  closed,  but  some  of  the  villagers 
were  about.  They  took  no  notice  whilst  the  dog  and 
the  boy  passed  by  them.  At  one  door  Nello  paused 
and  looked  wistfully  within  :  his  grandfather  had  done 
many  a  kindly  turn  in  neighbor's  service  to  the  people 
who  dwelt  there. 

"  Would  you  give  Patrasche  a  crust  ?"  he  said, 
timidly  "  He  is  old,  and  he  has  had  nothing  since 
last  forenoon." 

The  woman  shut  the  door  hastily,  murmuring  some 
vague  saying  about  wheat  and  rye  being  very  dear  that 
season.  The  boy  and  tl>^  dog  went  on  again  wearily  : 
they  asked  no  more. 

By  slow  and  painful  ways  they  reached  Antwerp  as 
the  cLimes  tolled  ten. 

"  If  I  had  anything  about  me  I  could  sell  to  get  him 

4 


50  A    ^OG   OF  FLANDERS. 

bread  !"  thought  Nello,  but  he  had  nothing  except  the 
wisp  of  linen  and  serge  that  covered  him,  and  his  ymi 
of  wooden  shoes. 

Patrasche  understood,  and  nestled  his  nose  into  the 
lad's  hand,  as  though  to  pray  hira  not  to  be  disquieted 
for  any  woe  or  want  of  his. 

The  winner  of  the  drawiiig^prize  was  to  be  pro- 
claimed at  noon,  and  to  the  public  building  where  he 
had  left  his  treasure  Nello  made  his  way.  On  the  steps 
and  in  the  entrance-hall  there  was  a  crowd  of  youths 
— some  of  his  age,  some  older,  all  with  parents  or  rela- 
tives or  friends.  His  heart  was  sick  with  fear  as  he 
went  among  them,  holding  Patrasche  close  to  him. 
The  great  bells  of  the  city  clashed  out  the  hour  of  noon 
with  brazen  clamor.  The  doors  of  the  inner  hall  were 
opened ;  the  eager,  panting  throng  rushed  in :  it  was 
known  that  the  selected  picture  would  be  raised  above 
the  rest  upon  a  wooden  dais. 

A  mist  obscured  Nello's  sight,  his  head  swam,  his 
limbs  almost  failed  him.  When  his  vision  cleared  he 
saw  the  drawing  raised  on  high  :  it  was  not  his  own  ! 
A  slow,  sonorous  voice  was  proclaiming  aloud  that 
victory  had  been  adjudged  to  Stephan  Kiesslinger,  born 
in  the  burgh  of  Antwerj),  son  of  a  wharfinger  in  that 
town. 

When  Nello  recovered  his  consciousness  he  was  lying 
on  the  stones  without,  and  Patrasche  was  trying  with 
every  art  he  knew  to  call  him  back  to  life.  In  the 
distance  a  throng  of  the  youths  of  Antwerp  were  shout- 
ing around  thei-  successful  comrade,  and  escorting  him 
with  acclamations  to  his  home  unon  the  quav 


A   DOO   OF  FLANDERS.  51 

The  boy  staggered  to  his  feet  and  drew  the  dog  into 
his  embrace.  "  It  is  all  over,  dear  Patrasche,"  he 
murmured — "  all  over  !" 

He  rallied  himself  as  best  he  could,  for  he  was  weak 
from  fasting,  and  retraced  his  steps  to  the  village. 
Patrasche  paced  by  his  side  with  his  head  drooping 
and  his  old  limbs  feeble  from  hunger  and  sorrow. 

The  snow  was  falling  fast :  a  keen  hurricane  blew 
from  the  north  :  it  was  bitter  as  death  on  the  plains. 
It  took  them  long  to  traverse  the  familiar  path,  and 
the  bells  were  sounding  four  of  the  clock  as  they 
approached  the  hamlet.  Suddenly  Patrasche  pause<i, 
arrested  by  a  scent  in  the  snow,  scratched,  whined,  and 
draw  ont  with  his  teeth  a  small  case  of  brown  leather. 
He  held  it  up  to  Nello  in  the  darkness.  Where  they 
were  there  stood  a  little  Calvary,  and  a  lamp  burned 
dully  under  tlie  cross :  the  boy  mechanically  turned  the 
case  to  the  light :  on  it  was  the  name  of  Baas  Cogez, 
and  within  it  were  notes  for  two  thousand  francs. 

The  sight  roused  the  lad  a  little  from  his  stupor. 
He  thrust  it  in  his  shirt,  and  stroked  Patrasche  and 
drew  him  onward.  The  dog  looked  up  wistfully  in 
his  face. 

Nello  made  straight  for  the  mill-house,  and  went  to 
the  house-door  and  struck  on  its  panels.  Tlje  miller's 
wife  0})ened  it  weeping,  with  little  Alois  cl'ngiug  close 
to  her  skirts.  "  Is  it  thee,  thou  poor  lad?"  she  said 
kindly  through  her  tears.  ''  Get  thee  gone  ere  the 
Baas  see  thee.  We  are  in  sore  trouble  to-night.  He 
is  out  seeking  for  a  jiower  of  money  that  he  has  let  faL 
nd'ng  homeward,  and  in  this  snow  he  never  will  find 


52  A  DOB  OF  FLANDERS. 

it ;  and  God  knows  it  will  go  nigh  to  ruin  us.  It  is 
Heaven's  own  judgment  for  the  things  we  have  done 
to  thee." 

Nello  put  the  note-case  in  her  hand  and  called  Pa- 
trasche  within  the  house.  "  Patrasche  found  the  money 
to-night,"  he  said  quickly.  "  Tell  Baas  Cogez  so :  I 
think  he  will  not  deny  the  dog  shelter  and  food  in  his 
old  age.  Keep  him  from  pursuing  me,  and  I  pray  of 
you  to  be  good  to  him." 

Ere  either  woman  or  dog  knew  what  he  meant  he 
had  stooped  and  kissed  Patrasche :  then  closed  the  door 
hurriedly,  and  disappeared  in  the  gloom  of  the  fast- 
falling  night. 

The  woman  and  the  child  stood  speechless  with  joy 
and  fear :  Patrasche  vainly  spent  the  fury  of  his 
anguish  against  the  iron-bound  oak  of  the  barred 
house-door.  They  did  not  dare  unbar  the  door  and 
let  him  forth :  they  tried  all  they  could  to  solace  him. 
They  brought  him  sweet  cakes  and  juicy  meats ;  they 
tempted  him  with  the  best  they  had  ;  they  tried  to  lure 
him  to  abide  by  the  warmth  of  the  hearth ;  but  it  was 
of  no  avail.  Patrasche  refused  to  be  comforted  or  to 
stir  from  the  barred  portal. 

It  was  six  o'clock  when  from  an  opposite  entrance 
the  miller  at  last  came,  jaded  and  broken,  into  his 
wife's  presence.  "  It  is  lost  forever,"  he  said  with  an 
ashen  cheek  and  a  quiver  in  his  stern  voice.  "We 
have  looked  with  lanterns  everywhere  :  it  is  gone — the 
little  maider.'s  portion  and  all !" 

His  wift  put  the  money  into  his  hand,  and  told  him 
how  it  had  come  tc  her.     The  strong  man  sank  trem- 


A   DOO   OF  FLANDERS.  53 

bling  into  a  seat  and  covered  his  face,  ashamed  and 
abnost  afraid.  "  I  have  been  cruel  to  the  lad,"  he 
muttered  at  length  :  "  I  deserved  not  to  have  good  at 
his  hands." 

Little  Alois,  taking  courage,  crept  close  to  her  father 
and  nestled  against  him  her  fair  curly  head.  "  Nello 
may  come  here  again,  father  ?"  she  whispered.  "  He 
may  come  to-morrow  as  he  used  to  do  ?" 

The  miller  pressed  her  in  his  arms :  his  hard,  sun- 
burned face  was  very  pale  and  his  mouth  trembled. 
"  Surely,  surely,"  he  answered  his  child.  "  He  shall 
bide  here  on  Christmas  Day,  and  any  other  day  he  will. 
Grod  helping  me,  I  will  make  amends  to  the  boy — I 
will  make  amends." 

Little  Alois  kissed  him  in  gratitude  and  joy,  then 
slid  from  his  knees  and  ran  to  where  the  dog  kept 
watch  by  the  door.  "  And  to-night  I  may  feast  Pa- 
trasche  ?"  she  cried  in  a  child's  thoughtless  glee. 

Her  father  bent  his  head  gravely  :  "  Ay,  ay  :  let  the 
dog  have  the  best ;"  for  the  stern  old  man  was  moved 
and  shaken  to  his  heart's  depths. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  the  mill-house  was  filled 
with  oak  logs  and  squares  of  turf,  with  cream  and 
honey,  with  meat  and  bread,  and  the  rafters  were  hung 
with  wreaths  of  evergreen,  and  the  Calvary  and  the 
cuckoo  clock  looked  out  from  a  mass  of  holly.  There 
were  little  paper  lanterns,  too,  for  Alois,  and  toys  of 
various  fashions  and  sweetmeats  in  bright-pictured 
papers.  Taere  were  light  and  warmth  and  abundance 
everywhere,  and  the  child  would  fain  have  made  the 
dog  a  guest  honored  and  feasted. 


54  ^  DOG   OF  FLANDERS. 

But  Patraache  would  neither  lie  in  the  warmth  not 
share  in  the  cheer.  Famished  he  was  and  very  cold, 
but  without  Nello  he  would  partake  neither  of  comfort 
nor  food.  Against  all  temptation  he  was  proof,  and 
close  against  the  door  he  leaned  always,  watching  only 
for  a  means  of  escape. 

"  He  wants  the  lad,"  said  Baas  Cogez.  "  Good  dog  1 
good  dog  1  I  will  go  over  to  tlie  lad  the  first  thing  at 
day-dawn."  For  no  one  but  Patrasche  knew  that  Nello 
had  left  the  hut,  and  no  one  but  Patrasche  divined  that 
Nello  had  gone  to  face  starvation  and  misery  alone. 

The  mill-kitchen  was  very  warm  :  great  logs  crackled 
and  flamed  on  the  hearth ;  neighbors  came  in  for  a 
glass  of  wine  and  a  slicfi  of  the  fat  goose  baking  for 
supper.  Alois,  gleeful  and  sure  of  her  playmate  back 
on  the  morroAv,  bounded  and  sang  and  tossed  back  her 
yellow  hair.  Baas  Cogez,  in  the  fulness  of  his  heart, 
smiled  on  her  through  moistened  eyes,  and  spoke  of  the 
way  in  which  he  would  befriend  her  favorite  compan- 
ion ;  the  house-mother  sat  with  calm,  contented  face  at 
the  spinning-wheel ;  the  cuckoo  in  the  clock  chirped 
mirthful  hours.  Amidst  it  all  Patrasche  was  bidden 
with  a  thousand  words  of  welcome  to  tarry  there  a 
cherished  guest.  But  neither  peace  nor  plenty  could 
allure  him  where  Nello  was  not. 

When  the  supper  smoked  on  the  board,  and  the 
voices  were  loudest  and  gladdest,  and  the  Christ-child 
brought  choicest  gifts  to  Alois,  Patrasche,  watching 
always  a,"  occasion,  glided  out  when  the  door  was  un- 
laU^hed  by  a  careles"  new-comer,  and  as  swiftly  as  his 
weak  and  tired  limbs  would  bear  him  sped  over  the 


A   DOO   OF  FLANDERS.  55 

snow  in  the  bitter,  black  night  He  had  only  one 
thought — to  follow  Nello.  A  human  friend  might 
have  paused  for  the  pleasant  meal,  the  cheery  warmth, 
the  cosey  slumber ;  but  that  was  not  the  friendship  of 
Patrasche.  He  remembered  a  bygone  time,  when  an 
old  man  and  a  little  child  had  found  him  sick  unto 
death  in  the  wayside  ditch. 

Snow  had  fallen  freshly  all  the  evening  long ;  it  was 
now  nearly  ten ;  the  trail  of  the  boy's  footsteps  was 
almost  obliterated.  It  took  Patrasche  long  to  discover 
any  scent.  When  at  last  he  found  it,  it  was  lost  again 
quickly,  and  lost  and  recovered,  and  again  lost  and 
again  recovered,  a  hundred  times  or  more. 

The  night  was  very  wild.  The  lamps  under  the 
wayside  crosses  were  blown  out ;  the  roads  were  sheets 
of  ice ;  the  impenetrable  darkness  hid  every  trace  of 
habitations ;  there  was  no  living  thing  abroad.  All 
the  cattle  were  housed,  and  in  all  the  huts  and  h(^me- 
steads  men  and  women  rejoiced  and  feasted.  There 
was  only  Patrasche  out  in  the  cruel  cold — old  and 
famished  and  full  of  pain,  but  with  the  strength  and 
the  patience  of  a  great  love  to  sustain  him  in  his 
search. 

The  trail  of  Nello's  steps,  faint  and  obscure  as  it 
was  under  the  new  snow,  went  straightly  along  the  ac- 
customed tracks  into  Antwerp.  It  was  past  midnighl 
when  Patrasche  traced  it  over  the  boundaries  of  tlie 
town  and  into  the  narrow,  tortuous,  gloomy  streets. 
It  was  ah  quite  dark  in  the  town,  save  where  some 
light  gleamed  ruudily  through  the  crevices  of  house- 
ghutters  or  some  {/•'•uup  weait  homeward  with  lantern? 


56  A  DOG  OF  FLANDERS. 

chanting  drinking-songs.  The  streets  were  all  white 
with  ice:  the  high  walls  and  roofs  loomed  black 
against  them.  There  was  scarce  a  sound  save  the  rioi^ 
of  the  winds  down  the  passages  as  they  tossed  the 
creaking  signs  and  shook  the  tall  lamp-irons. 

So  many  passers-by  had  trodden  through  and  through 
the  snow,  so  many  diverse  paths  had  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  each  other,  that  the  dog  had  a  hard  task  to 
retain  any  hold  on  the  track  he  followed.  But  he  kept 
on  his  way,  though  the  cold  pierced  him  to  the  bone, 
and  the  jagged  ice  cut  his  feet,  and  the  hunger  in  his 
body  gnawed  like  a  rat's  teeth.  He  kept  on  his  way, 
a  poor  gaunt,  shivering  thing,  and  by  long  patience 
traced  the  steps  he  loved  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
burgh  and  up  to  the  steps  of  the  great  cathedral. 

"  He  is  gone  to  the  things  that  he  loved,"  thought 
Patrasche :  he  could  not  understand,  but  he  was  full 
of  sorrow  and  of  pity  for  the  art-passion  that  to  him 
was  so  incomprehensible  and  yet  so  sacred. 

The  portals  of  the  cathedral  were  unclosed  after  the 
midnight  mass.  Some  heedlessness  in  the  custodians, 
too  eager  to  go  home  and  feast  or  sleep,  or  too  drowsy  to 
know  whether  they  turned  the  keys  aright,  had  left  one 
of  the  doors  unlocked.  By  that  accident  the  foot-falls 
Patrasche  sought  had  passed  through  into  the  build- 
ing, leaving  the  white  marks  of  snow  upon  the  dark 
stone  floor.  By  that  slender  white  thread,  frozen  as  it 
fell,  he  WOP  guided  through  the  intense  silence,  through 
the  immensity  of  the  vaulted  space — guided  straight  to 
the  gates  oi  the  chancel,  and,  stretched  there  upon  the 
stones,  he  found  Nello.     He  crept  up  and  touched  the 


A  DOO  OF  FLANDERS.  67 

Suje  of  the  boy.  "  Didst  thou  dream  that  I  should  be 
faithless  and  forsake  thee  ?  I — a  dog  ?"  said  that  mute 
caress. 

The  lad  raised  himself  with  a  low  cry  an'i  clasped 
him  close.  "  Let  us  lie  down  and  die  together,"  he 
murmured.  "  Men  have  no  need  of  us,  and  we  are  all 
alone." 

In  answer,  Patrasche  crept  closer  yet,  and  laid  his 
head  upon  the  young  boy's  breast.  The  great  tears 
stood  in  his  brown,  sad  eyes :  not  for  himself — for 
himself  he  was  happy. 

They  lay  close  together  in  the  piercing  cold.  The 
blasts  that  blew  over  the  Flemish  dikes  from  the 
northern  seas  were  like  waves  of  ice,  which  froze  every 
living  thing  they  touched.  The  interior  of  the  im- 
mense vault  of  stone  in  which  they  were  was  even 
more  bitterly  chill  than  the  snow-covered  plains  with- 
out. Now  and  then  a  bat  moved  in  the  shadows — now 
and  then  a  gleam  of  light  came  on  the  ranks  of  carven 
figures.  Under  the  Rubens  they  lay  together  quite 
stiU,  and  soothed  almost  into  a  dreaming  slumber  by 
the  numbing  narcotic  of  the  cold.  Together  they 
dreamed  of  the  old  glad  days  when  they  had  chased 
each  other  through  the  flowering  grasses  of  the  summer 
meadows,  or  sat  hidden  in  the  tall  bulrushes  by  the 
water's  side,  watching  the  boats  go  seaward  in  the  sun. 

Suddenly  through  the  darkness  a  great  white  radi- 
ance streamed  through  the  vastness  of  the  aisles ;  the 
moon,  tha'  was  at  her  height,  had  broken  through  the 
clouds,  the  smw  had  ceased  to  fall,  the  light  reflected 
from  the  snow  without  was  clear  as  the  light  of  dawn. 


58  A   DOG   OF  FLANDERS.  ^ 

It  fell  through  the  arches  full  upon  the  two  pictures 
above,  from  which  the  boy  on  his  entrance  had  flung 
back  the  veil :  the  Elevation  and  the  Descent  of  the 
Cross  were  for  one  instant  visible. 

Nello  rose  to  his  feet  and  stretched  his  arms  to  them  ; 
the  tears  of  a  passionate  ecstasy  glistened  on  the  pale- 
ness of  his  face.  "  I  have  seen  them  at  last !"  he  cried 
aloud,     "  O  God,  it  is  enough  !" 

His  limbs  failed  under  him,  and  he  sank  upon 
his  knees,  still  gazing  upward  at  the  majesty  that  he 
adored.  For  a  few  brief  moments  the  light  illumined 
the  divine  visions  that  had  been  denied  to  him  so  long 
— light  clear  and  sweet  and  strong  as  though  it  streamed 
from  the  throne  of  Heaven.  Then  suddenly  it  passed 
away  :  once  more  a  great  darkness  covered  the  face  of 
Christ. 

The  arms  of  the  boy  drew  close  again  the  body  of 
the  dog.  " We  shall  see  His  face — there"  he  mur- 
mured ;  "  and  He  will  not  part  us,  I  think." 

On  the  morrow,  by  the  chancel  of  the  cathedral,  the 
people  of  Antwerp  found  them  both.  They  were  both 
dead :  the  cold  of  the  night  iiad  frozen  into  stillness 
alike  the  young  life  and  the  old.  When  the  Christmas 
morning  broke  and  the  priests  came  to  the  temple, 
they  saw  them  lying  thus  on  the  stones  together. 
Above,  tlie  veils  were  drawn  back  from  the  great 
visions  of  Rubeiis,  and  the  fresh  rays  of  the  sunrise 
touched  the  thorn-crowned  head  of  the  Christ. 

As  the  day  grew  on  there  came  an  old,  hard-featured 
mar  who  wept  as  women  weep.  "I  was  cruel  to  the 
■ad,'^   he  muttered,   "and   now  I   would    have   mm]*' 


A    DOG    OF  FLANDERS.  59 

amends — yea,  to  the  half  of  my  substanoo- -and  he 
should  have  been  to  me  as  a  son." 

Thei-e  came  also,  as  the  day  grew  apace,  a  painter 
who  had  fame  in  the  world,  and  who  was  liberal  of 
hand  and  of  spirit.  "  I  seek  one  who  should  have 
had  the  ])rize  yesterday  had  worth  won,"  he  said  to  the 
people — "  a  boy  of  rare  promise  and  genius.  An  old 
wood -cutter  on  a  fallen  tree  at  eventide — that  was  all 
his  theme.  But  there  was  greatness  for  the  future  in 
it.  I  would  fain  find  him,  and  take  him  with  me  and 
teach  him  Art." 

And  a  little  child  with  curlino;  fair  hair,  sobbing  bit 
terly  as  she  clung  to  her  father's  arm,  cried  aloud,  "  Oh, 
Nello,  come !  We  have  all  ready  for  thee.  The 
Christ-child's  hands  are  full  of  gifts,  and  the  old  piper 
will  play  for  us  ;  and  the  mother  says  thou  shalt  stay 
by  the  hearth  and  burn  nuts  with  us  all  the  Noel  week 
long — yes,  even  to  the  Feast  of  the  Kings  !  And  Pa- 
trasche  will  be  so  happy  I  Oh,  Nello,  wake  and 
come !" 

But  the  young  pale  face,  turned  upward  to  the  light 
of  the  great  Rubens  with  a  smile  upon  its  mouth,  an- 
swered them  all,  "  It  is  too  late." 

For  the  sweet,  sonorous  bells  went  ringing  through 
the  frost,  and  tlie  sunlight  shone  upon  the  plains  of 
snow,  and  the  populace  trooped  gay  and  glad  through 
the  streets,  but  Nello  and  Patrasche  no  more  asked 
charity  at  their  hands.  All  they  needed  now  Antwerp 
gavt  unbidden. 

Death  liad  been  w>ve  pitiful  to  tiiem  than  longer  lift 
ViMild  have  beec.     It  had  taken  the  one  in  the  loyalt\ 


60  ^  D0&  OF  FLANDERS. 

at  love,  and  the  other  in  the  innocence  of  faith,  from 
a  world  which  for  love  has  no  recompense  and  for  faith 
no  fulfilment. 

All  their  lives  they  had  been  together,  and  in  their 
deaths  they  were  not  divided :  for  when  they  were 
found  the  arms  of  the  boy  were  folded  too  closely 
around  the  dog  to  be  severed  without  violence,  and  the 
people  of  their  little  village,  contrite  and  ashamed, 
implored  a  special  grace  for  them,  and,  making  them 
one  grave,  laid  them  to  rest  there  side  by  side — fojr- 
everl 


THE  NURNBERG  STOVE 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 


August  lived  in  a  little  town  called  Hall.  Hall  is 
a  favorite  name  for  several  towns  in  Austria  and  in 
Germany;  but  this  one  aspecial  little  Hall,  in  the 
Upper  Innthal,  is  one  of  the  most  charming  Old- 
World  places  that  I  know,  and  August  for  his  part 
did  not  know  any  other.  It  has  the  green  meadows 
and  the  great  mountains  all  about  it,  and  the  gray- 
green  glacier-fed  water  rushes  by  it.  It  has  paved 
streets  and  enchanting  little  shops  that  have  all  lat- 
ticed panes  and  iron  gratings  to  them ;  it  has  a  very 
grand  old  Gothic  church,  that  has  the  noblest  blend- 
ings  of  light  and  shadow,  and  marble  tombs  of  dead 
knights,  and  a  look  of  infinite  strength  and  repose  as  a 
church  should  have.  Then  there  is  the  Muntze  Tower, 
black  and  white,  rising  out  of  greenery  and  looking 
down  on  a  long  wooden  bridge  and  the  broad  rapid 
river;  and  there  is  an  old  schloss  which  has  been  made 
into  a  guard-house,  with  battlements  and  frescos  and 
heraldic  devices  in  gold  and  colors,  and  a  man-at-arms 
carved  in  stone  standing  life-size  in  his  niche  and 
bearing  his  date  1530.  A  little  farther  on,  but  close 
at  hand,  is  a  cloister  with  beautiful  marble  columns 
and  tombs,  an(f  a  colossal  wood-carved  Calvary,  and 
beside  that  a  small  and  very  rich  chapel :  indeed,  so 

63 


64  THE  ^ORNBERG  stove. 

full  is  the  little  town  of  the  undisturbed  past,  that  to 
walk  in  it  is  like  opening  a  missal  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
all  emblazoned  and  illuminated  with  saints  and  war- 
riors, and  it  is  so  clean,  and  so  still,  and  so  noble,  by 
reason  of  its  monuments  and  its  historic  color,  that  I 
marvel  much  no  one  has  ever  cared  to  sing  its  praises. 
The  old  pious  heroic  life  of  an  age  at  once  more  restful 
and  more  brave  than  ours  still  leaves  its  spirit  there, 
and  then  there  is  the  girdle  of  the  mountains  all  around, 
and  that  alone  means  strength,  peace,  majesty. 

In  this  little  town  a  few  years  ago  August  Strehla 
lived  with  his  people  in  the  stone-paved  irregular 
square  where  the  grand  church  stands. 

He  was  a  small  boy  of  nine  years  at  that  time, — a 
chubby-faced  little  man  with  rosy  cheeks,  big  hazel 
eyes,  and  clusters  of  curls  the  brown  of  ripe  nuts.  His 
mother  was  dead,  his  father  was  poor,  and  there  were 
many  mouths  at  home  to  feed.  In  this  country  the 
winters  are  long  and  very  cold,  the  whole  land  lies 
wrapped  in  snow  for  many  months,  and  this  night  that 
he  was  trotting  home,  with  a  jug  of  beer  in  his  numb 
red  hands,  was  terribly  cold  and  dreary.  The  good 
burghers  of  Hall  had  shut  their  double  shutters,  and 
the  few  lamps  there  were  flickered  dully  behind  their 
quaint,  old-fashioned  iron  casings.  The  mountains 
indeed  were  beautiful,  all  snow-white  under  the  stars 
that  are  so  big  in  frost.  Hardly  any  one  was  astir; 
a  few  good  souls  wending  home  from  vespers,  a  tired 
post-boy  who  blew  a  shrill  blast  from  his  tasselled 
horn  as  he  pulled  up  his  sledge  before  a  hostelry,  and 
little  August  hugging  his  jug  of  beer  to  his  ragged 
Bheepskin  coat,  were  all  who  were  abroad,  for  the  snow 


THE  NVRNBERQ  stove.  65 

fell  heavily  and  the  good  folks  of  Hall  go  early  to 
their  beds.  He  could  not  run,  or  he  would  have 
spilled  the  beer ;  he  was  half  frozen  and  a  little  fright- 
ened, but  he  kept  up  his  courage  by  saying  over  and 
over  again  to  himself,  "  I  shall  soon  be  at  home  with 
dear  Hirschvogel." 

He  went  on  through  the  streets,  past  the  stone  man- 
at-arms  of  the  guard-house,  and  so  into  the  place  where 
the  great  church  was,  and  where  near  it  stood  his  father 
Karl  Strehla's  house,  with  a  sculptured  Bethlehem  over 
the  door- way,  and  the  Pilgrimage  of  the  Three  Kings 
painted  on  its  wall.  He  had  been  sent  on  a  long  errand 
outside  the  gates  in  the  afternoon,  over  the  frozen  fields 
and  the  broad  white  snow,  and  had  been  belated,  and 
had  thought  he  had  heard  the  wolves  behind  him  at 
every  step,  and  had  reached  the  town  in  a  great  state 
of  terror,  thankful  with  all  his  little  panting  heart  to 
see  the.  oil-lamp  burning  under  the  first  house-shrine. 
But  he  had  not  forgotten  to  call  for  the  beer,  and  he 
carried  it  carefully  now,  though  his  hands  were  so 
numb  that  he  was  afraid  they  would  let  the  jug  down 
every  moment. 

The  snow  outlined  with  white  every  gable  and  cor- 
nice of  the  beautiful  old  wooden  houses;  the  moonlight 
shone  on  the  gilded  signs,  the  lambs,  the  grapes,  the 
eagles,  and  all  the  quaint  devices  that  hung  before  the 
doors ;  covered  lamps  burned  before  the  Nativities 
and  Crucifixions  painted  on  the  walls  or  let  iuto  the 
wood-work ;  here  and  there,  where  a  shutter  had  not 
been  closed,  a  ruddy  fire-light  lit  up  a  homely  interior, 
with  the  naisy  band  of  children  clustering  round  the 
house-mother  and  a  big  brown  loaf,  or  some  gossips 
5 


6G  THE  NiJRNBERG   STOVE. 

spinning  and  listening  to  the  cobbler's  or  the  barber's 
story  of  a  neighbor,  while  the  oil-wicks  glimmered, 
and  the  hearth-logs  blazed,  and  the  chestnuts  sputtered 
in  their  iron  roasting-pot.  Little  August  saw  all  these 
things,  as  he  saw  everything  with  his  two  big  bright 
eyes  that  had  such  curious  lights  and  shadows  in  them ; 
but  he  went  heedfully  on  his  way  for  the  sake  of  the 
beer  which  a  single  slip  of  the  foot  would  make  him 
spill.  At  his  knock  and  call  the  solid  oak  door,  four 
centuries  old  if  one,  flew  open,  and  the  boy  darted  in 
with  his  beer,  and  shouted,  with  all  the  force  of  mirth- 
ful lungs,  "  Oh,  dear  Hirschvogel,  but  for  the  thought 
of  you  I  should  have  died !" 

It  was  a  large  barren  room  into  which  he  rushed 
with  so  much  pleasure,  and  the  bricks  were  bare  and 
uneven.  It  had  a  walnut-wood  press,  handsome  and 
very  old,  a  broad  deal  table,  and  several  wooden  stools 
for  all  its  furniture ;  but  at  the  top  of  the  chamber, 
sending  out  warmth  and  color  together  as  the  lamp 
shed  its  rays  upon  it,  was  a  tower  of  porcelain,  bur- 
nished with  all  the  hues  of  a  king's  peacock  and  a 
queen's  jewels,  and  surmounted  with  armed  figures, 
and  shields,  and  flowers  of  heraldry,  and  a  great  golden 
crown  upon  the  highest  summit  of  all. 

It  was  a  stove  of  1532,  and  on  it  were  the  letters 
H.  R.  H.,  for  it  was  in  every  portion  the  handwork  of 
the  great  potter  of  Niirnberg,  Augustin  Hirschvogel, 
who  put  his  mark  thus,  as  all  the  world  knows. 

The  stove  no  doubt  had  stood  in  palaces  and  been 
made  lor  princes,  had  warmed  the  crimson  stockings  of 
cardinals  ana  the  gold-broidered  shoes  of  archduchesses, 
had  glowed  in  presence-chambers  and  lent  its  carbon 


THE  NVRNBERG   STOVE.  67 

to  help  kindle  sharp  brains  in  anxious  council?  of  state ; 
ao  one  knew  what  it  had  seen  or  done  or  been  fashioned 
for ;  but  it  was  a  right  royal  thing.  Yet  perhaps  it 
had  never  been  more  useful  than  it  was  now  in  this 
poor  desolate  room,  sending  down  heat  and  comfort 
into  the  troop  of  children  tumbled  together  on  a  wolf- 
skin at  its  ^eei,  who  received  frozen  August  among 
them  with  loud  shouts  of  joy. 

"Oh,  dear  Hirschvogel,  I  am  so  cold,  so  cold!"  said 
A-Ugust,  kissing  its  gilded  lion's  claws,  "  Is  father  not 
in,  Dorothea?" 

"  No,  dear.     He  is  late." 

Dorothea  was  a  girl  of  seventeen,  dark-haired  and 
Berious,  and  with  a  sweet  sad  face,  for  she  had  had 
many  cares  laid  on  her  shoulders,  even  whilst  still  a 
mere  baby.  She  was  the  eldest  of  the  Strehla  family ; 
and  there  were  ten  of  them  in  all.  Next  to  her  there 
came  Jan  and  Karl  and  Otho,  big  lads,  gaining  a  little 
for  their  own  living;  and  then  came  August,  who  went 
up  in  the  summer  to  the  high  alps  with  the  farmers' 
cattle,  but  in  winter  could  do  nothing  to  fill  his  own 
little  platter  and  pot ;  and  then  all  the  little  ones,  who 
could  only  open  their  mouths  to  be  fed  like  young 
birds, — Albrecht  and  Hilda,  and  Waldo  and  Christof, 
and  last  of  all  little  three-year-old  Ermengilda,  with 
eyes  like  forget-me-nots,  whose  birth  had  cost  them 
the  life  of  their  mother. 

They  were  of  that  mixed  race,  half  Austrian,  half 
Italian,  so  common  in  the  Tyrol ;  some  of  the  children 
were  white  and  golden  as  lilies,  others  were  brown  and 
brilliant  as  fresh-fallen  chestnuts.  The  father  was  a 
good  mar.  but  weak  ana  weary  with  so  many  to  find 


68  THE  NURNBERG  STOVE. 

for  and  so  little  to  do  it  with.  He  worked  at  the  salt- 
furnaces,  and  by  that  gained  a  few  florins ;  people  said 
he  would  have  worked  better  and  kept  his  family  more 
easily  if  he  had  not  loved  his  pipe  and  a  draught  of  ale 
too  well ;  but  this  had  only  been  said  of  him  after  his 
wife's  death,  when  trouble  and  perplexity  had  begun 
to  dull  a  brain  never  too  vigorous,  and  to  enfeeble 
further  a  character  already  too  yielding.  As  it  was, 
the  wolf  often  bayed  at  the  door  of  the  Strehla  house- 
hold, without  a  wolf  from  the  mountains  coming  down. 
Dorothea  was  one  of  those  maidens  who  almost  work 
miracles,  so  far  can  their  industry  and  care  and  intelli- 
gence make  a  home  sweet  and  wholesome  and  a  single 
loaf  seem  to  swell  into  twenty.  The  children  were 
always  clean  and  happy,  and  the  table  was  seldom 
without  its  big  pot  of  soup  once  a  day.  Still,  very 
poor  they  were,  and  Dorothea's  heart  ached  with 
shame,  for  she  knew  that  their  father's  debts  were 
many  for  flour  and  meat  and  clothing.  Of  fuel  to 
feed  the  big  stove  they  had  always  enough  without 
cost,  for  their  mother's  father  was  alive,  and  sold  wood 
and  fir  cones  and  coke,  and  never  grudged  them  to  his 
grandchildren,  though  he  grumbled  at  Strehla's  im- 
providence and  hapless,  dreamy  ways. 

"  Father  says  we  are  never  to  wait  for  him  :  we  will 
have  supper,  now  you  have  come  home,  dear,"  said 
Dorothea,  who,  however  she  might  fret  her  soul  in 
secret  as  she  knitted  their  hose  and  mended  their 
shirts,  never  let  her  anxieties  cast  a  gloom  on  the  chil- 
iren ;  only  to  August  she  did  speak  a  little  sometimes, 
oecause  he  was  so  thoughtful  and  so  tender  of  her 
always,  and  knew  as  well  as  she  did  that  there  were 


THE  NURNBERG  STOVE.  69 

fcroubles  about  money, — though  these  troubles  Aivere 
vague  t3  them  both,  and  the  debtors  were  patient  and 
kindly,  being  neighbors  all  in  the  old  twisting  streets 
between  the  guard-house  and  the  river. 

Supper  was  a  huge  bowl  of  soup,  with  big  slices  of 
brown  bread  swimming  in  it  and  some  onions  bobbing 
up  and  down :  the  bowl  was  soon  emptied  by  ten 
wooden  spoons,  and  then  the  three  eldest  boys  slipped 
off  to  bed,  being  tired  with  tlieir  rough  bodily  labor  in 
the  snow  all  day,  and  Dorothea  drew  her  spinning- 
wheel  by  the  stove  and  set  it  whirring,  and  the  little 
ones  got  August  down  upon  the  old  worn  wolf-skin 
and  clamored  to  him  for  a  picture  or  a  story.  For 
August  was  the  artist  of  the  family. 

He  had  a  piece  of  planed  deal  that  his  father  had 
given  him,  and  some  sticks  of  charcoal,  and  he  would 
draw  a  hundred  things  he  had  seen  in  the  day,  sweep- 
ing each  out  with  his  elbow  when  the  children  had 
seen  enough  of  it  and  sketching  another  in  its  stead, — 
faces  and  dogs'  heads,  and  men  in  sledges,  and  old 
women  in  their  furs,  and  pine-trees,  and  cocks  and 
hens,  and  all  sorts  of  animals,  and  now  and  then — 
very  reverently — a  Madonna  and  Child.  It  was  all 
very  rough,  for  there  was  no  one  to  teach  him  any- 
thing. But  it  was  all  life-like,  and  kept  the  whole 
troop  of  children  shrieking  with  laughter,  or  watching 
breathless,  with  wide  open,  wondering,  awed  eyes. 

They  were  all  so  happy:  what  did  they  care  for  the 
snow  outside?  Their  little  bodies  were  warm,  pud 
their  hearts  merry ;  even  Dorothea,  troubled  about  the 
bre».i  for  ie  morrow,  laughed  as  she  spun ;  and  Au- 
gust^ with  all  his  soul  in  his  work,  and  little  rosy  Er- 


70  THE  NURNBERQ   STOVE. 

mengilda's  cheek  on  his  shoulder,  glowiug  after  hia 
frozen  afternoon,  cried  out  loud,  smiling,  as  he  looked 
up  at  the  stove  that  was  shedding  its  heat  down  on 
them  all, — 

"Oh,  dear  Hirschvogel !  you  are  almost  as  great  and 
good  as  the  sun !  No ;  you  are  greater  and  better,  I 
think,  because  he  goes  away  nobody  knows  where  all 
these  long,  dark,  cold  hours,  and  does  not  care  how 
people  die  for  want  of  him ;  but  you — you  are  always 
ready :  just  a  little  bit  of  wood  to  feed  you,  and  you 
will  make  a  summer  for  us  all  the  winter  through !" 

The  grand  old  stove  seemed  to  smile  through  all  its 
iridescent  surface  at  the  praises  of  the  child.  No  doubt 
the  stove,  though  it  had  known  three  centuries  and 
more,  had  known  but  very  little  gratitude. 

It  was  one  of  those  magnificent  stoves  in  enamelled 
faience  which  so  excited  the  jealousy  of  the  other  pot- 
ters of  Nurnberg  that  in  a  body  they  demanded  of  the 
magistracy  that  Augustin  Hirschvogel  should  be  for- 
bidden to  make  any  more  of  them, — the  magistracy, 
happily,  proving  of  a  broader  mind,  and  having  no 
sympathy  with  the  wish  of  the  artisans  to  cripple  their 
greater  fellow. 

It  was  of  great  height  and  breadth,  with  all  the 
majolica  lustre  which  Hirschvogel  learned  to  give  to 
his  enamels  when  he  was  making  love  to  the  young 
Venetian  gir  whom  he  afterwards  married.  There 
was  the  statue  of  a  king  at  each  corner,  modelled  with 
as  much  force  and  splendor  as  his  friend  Albrecht 
Diirer  could  have  given  unto  them  on  copperplate  or 
canvas.  The  body  of  the  stove  itself  was  divided  into 
paneL,  which  had  the  Ages  of  Man  painted  on  them 


THE  NiJRNBERO   STOVE.  71 

in  polychrome;  the  borders  of  the  j^mnels  had  roses 
and  holly  and  laurel  and  other  foliage,  and  German 
mottoes  in  black  letter  of  odd  Old-World  moralizing, 
such  as  the  old  Teutons,  and  the  Dutch  after  them, 
love  to  have  on  their  chimney-places  and  their  drink- 
ing-cups,  their  dishes  and  flagons.  The  whole  was 
burnished  with  gilding  in  many  parts,  and  was  radiant 
everywhere  with  that  brilliant  coloring  of  which  the 
Hirschvogel  family,  painters  on  glass  and  great  in 
chemistry  as  they  were,  were  all  masters. 

The  stove  was  a  very  grand  thing,  as  I  say:  possibly 
Hirschvogel  had  made  it  for  some  mighty  lord  of  the 
Tyrol  at  that  time  when  he  was  an  imperial  guest  at 
Innspruck  and  fashioned  so  many  things  for  the  Schloss 
Amras  and  beautiful  Philippine  Welser,  the  burgher's 
daughter,  who  gained  an  archduke's  heart  by  her 
beauty  and  the  right  to  wear  his  honors  by  her  wit. 
Nothing  was  known  of  the  stove  at  this  latter  day 
in  Hall.  The  grandfather  Strehla,  who  had  been  a 
master-mason,  had  dug  it  up  out  of  some  ruins  where 
he  was  building,  and,  finding  it  without  a  flaw,  had 
taken  it  home,  and  only  thought  it  worth  finding  be- 
cause it  was  such  a  good  one  to  burn.  That  was  now 
sixty  years  past,  and  ever  since  then  the  stove  had 
stood  in  the  big  desolate  empty  room,  warming  three 
generations  of  the  Strehla  family,  and  having  seen 
nothing  prettier  perhaps  in  all  its  many  years  than 
the  children  tumbled  now  in  a  cluster  like  gathered 
flowers  at  its  feet.  For  the  Strehla  children,  bom  to 
notning  else,  were  all  born  with  beauty :  white  or 
brown,  thfij  were  equally  lovely  to  look  upon,  and 
wher   they   went  into  the  church  to  mass,  with  their 


72  THE  NURNBERO  STOVE. 

curling  locks  and  their  clasped  hands,  they  stood  undei 
the  grim  statues  like  cherubs  flown  down  oif  some 
fresco. 

"Tell  us  a  story,  August,"  they  cried,  in  chorus, 
when  they  had  seen  charcoal  pictures  till  they  were 
tired;  and  August  did  as  he  did  every  night  pretty 
nearly, — looked  up  at  the  stove  and  told  them  what 
he  imagined  of  the  many  adventures  and  joys  and  sor- 
rows of  the  human  being  who  figured  on  the  panels 
from  his  cradle  to  his  grave. 

To  the  children  the  stove  was  a  household  god.  In 
summer  they  laid  a  mat  of  fresh  moss  all  round  it,  and 
dressed  it  up  with  green  boughs  and  the  numberless 
beautiful  wild  flowers  of  the  Tyrol  country.  In  win- 
ter all  their  joys  centred  in  it,  and  scampering  home 
from  school  over  the  ice  and  snow  they  were  happy, 
knowing  that  they  would  soon  be  cracking  nuts  or 
roasting  chestnuts  in  the  broad  ardent  glow  of  its  noble 
tower,  which  rose  eight  feet  high  above  them  with  all 
its  spires  and  pinnacles  and  crowns. 

Once  a  travelling  peddler  had  told  them  that  the 
letters  on  it  meant  Augustin  Hirschvogel,  and  that 
Hirschvogel  had  been  a  great  German  potter  and 
painter,  like  his  father  before  him,  in  the  art-sanctified 
city  of  Niirnberg,  and  had  made  many  such  stoves, 
that  were  all  miracles  of  beauty  and  of  workmanship, 
putting  all  his  heart  and  his  soul  and  his  faith  into  his 
labors,  as  the  men  of  those  earlier  ages  did,  and  think- 
ing but  little  of  gold  or  praise. 

An  old  trader  too,  who  sold  curiosities  not  far  from 
the  ihurch,  had  told  August  a  little  more  about  the 
brave  family  of  Hirschvogel,  whose  houses  can  be  seen 


THE  NiJRNBERQ   STOVE.  73 

in  Niirnberg  to  this  day ;  of  old  Veit,  the  first  of  them, 
who  painted  the  Gothic  windows  of  St.  Sebald  with 
the  marriage  of  the  Margravine ;  of  his  sons  and  of 
his  grandsons,  potters,  painters,  engravers  all,  and 
chief  of  them  great  Augustin,  the  Luca  della  Robbia 
of  the  North.  And  August's  imagination,  always 
quick,  had  made  a  living  personage  out  of  these  few 
records,  and  saw  Hirschvogel  as  though  he  were  in  the 
flesh  walking  up  and  down  the  Maximilian-Strass  in 
his  visit  to  Innspruck,  and  maturing  beautiful  things 
in  his  brain  as  he  stood  on  the  bridge  and  gazed  on  the 
emerald-green  flood  of  the  Inn. 

So  the  stove  had  got  to  be  called  Hirschvogel  in  the 
family,  as  if  it  were  a  living  creature,  and  little  August 
was  very  proud  because  he  had  been  named  after  that 
famous  old  dead  German  who  had  had  the  genius  to 
make  so  glorious  a  thing.  All  the  children  loved  the 
stove,  but  with  August  the  love  of  it  was  a  passion ; 
and  in  his  secret  heart  he  used  to  say  to  himself, 
"When  I  am  a  man,  I  will  make  just  such  things  too, 
and  then  I  will  set  Hirschvogel  in  a  beautiful  room  in 
a  house  that  I  will  build  myself  in  Innspruck  just 
outside  the  gates,  where  the  chestnuts  are,  by  the  river : 
that  is  what  I  will  do  when  I  am  a  man." 

For  August,  a  salt-baker's  son  and  a  little  cow- 
keeper  when  he  was  anything,  was  a  dreamer  of 
dreams,  and  when  he  was  upon  the  high  alps  with  his 
cattle,  with  the  stillness  and  the  sky  around  him,  was 
quite  certain  that  he  would  live  for  greater  things  than 
driving  the  herds  up  when  the  spring-tide  came  among 
the  blue  sea  of  gentians,  or  toiling  down  in  the  town 
widb  wood  an(?  with  timber  as  his  father  and  grand- 


74  THE  NtJRNBERG  STOVE. 

father  did  every  day  of  their  lives.  He  was  a  strong 
and  healthy  little  fellow,  fed  on  the  free  mountain-air, 
and  he  was  very  happy,  and  loved  his  family  devotedly, 
and  was  as  active  as  a  squirrel  and  as  playful  as  a  hare ; 
but  he  kept  his  thoughts  to  himself,  and  some  of  them 
went  a  very  long  way  for  a  little  boy  who  was  only 
one  among  many,  and  to  whom  nobody  had  evei 
paid  any  attention  except  to  teach  him  his  letters  and 
tell  him  to  fear  God.  August  in  winter  was  only  a 
little,  hungry  school-boy,  trotting  to  be  catechised  by 
the  priest,  or  to  bring  the  loaves  from  the  bake-house, 
or  to  carry  his  father's  boots  to  the  cobbler ;  and  in 
summer  he  was  only  one  of  hundreds  of  cow-boys, 
who  drove  the  poor,  half-blind,  blinking,  stumbling 
cattle,  ringing  their  throat-bells,  out  into  the  sweet  in- 
toxication of  the  sudden  sunlight,  and  lived  up  with 
them  in  the  heights  among  the  Alpine  roses,  with  only 
the  clouds  and  the  snow-summits  near.  But  he  waa 
always  thinking,  thinking,  thinking,  for  all  that ;  and 
under  his  little  sheepskin  winter  coat  and  his  rough 
hempen  summer  shirt  his  heart  had  as  much  courage 
in  it  as  Hofer's  ever  had, — great  Hofer,  who  is  a  house- 
hold word  in  all  the  Innthal,  and  whom  August  always 
reverently  remembered  when  he  went  to  the  city  of 
Innspruck  and  ran  out  by  the  foaming  water-mill  and 
under  the  wooded  height  of  Berg  Isel. 

August  lay  now  in  the  warmth  of  the  stove  and  told 
the  children  stories,  his  own  little  brown  face  grow- 
ing red  witl  excitement  as  his  imagination  glowed  to 
fever-heat.  That  humar  being  or  the  panels,  who  wa? 
drawn  there  as  a  baby  m  a  cradle,  as  a  boy  playing 
among  flowers,  as  a  lover  sighing  under  a  casement,  a? 


THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE.  75 

a  soldier  in  the  midst  of  strife,  as  a  father  with  chil- 
dren round  him,  as  a  weary,  old,  blind  man  on  crutches, 
and,  lastly,  as  a  ransomed  soul  raised  up  by  angels,  had 
always  had  the  most  intense  interest  for  August,  and 
he  had  made,  not  one  history  for  him,  but  a  thousand ; 
he  seldom  told  them  the  same  tale  twice.  He  had 
never  seen  a  story-book  in  his  life ;  his  primer  and  his 
mass-book  were  all  the  volumes  he  had.  But  nature 
had  given  him  Fancy,  and  she  is  a  good  fairy  that 
makes  up  for  the  want  of  very  many  things !  only, 
alas  I  her  wings  are  so  very  soon  broken,  poor  thing, 
and  then  she  is  of  no  use  at  all. 

"  It  is  time  for  you  all  to  go  to  bed,  children,"  said 
Dorothea,  looking  up  from  her  spinning.  "  Father  ia 
very  late  to-night ;  you  must  not  sit  up  for  him." 

"  Oh,  five  minutes  more,  dear  Dorothea !"  they 
pleaded  ;  and  little  rosy  and  golden  Ermengilda  climbed 
up  into  her  lap.  "  Hirschvogel  is  so  warm,  the  beds 
are  never  so  warm  as  he.  Cannot  you  tell  us  another 
tale,  August  ?" 

"  No,"  cried  August,  whose  face  had  lost  its  light, 
now  that  his  story  had  come  to  an  end,  and  who  sat 
serious,  with  his  hands  clasped  on  his  knees,  gazing  on 
to  the  luminous  arabesques  of  the  stove. 

"  It  is  only  a  week  to  Christmas,"  he  said,  suddenly. 

"  Grandmother's  big  cakes  !"  chuckled  little  Christof, 
who  was  five  years  old,  and  thought  Christmas  meant 
a  big  cake  and  nothing  else. 

"  What  will  Santa  Clans  find  for  'Gilda  if  she  be 
good?"  murmured 'x)orothea,  over  the  child's  sunny 
head ;  for,  however  hard  poverty  might  pinch,  it  could 
ttever  pinch  so  tightly  that  Dorothea  would  not  find 


re  THE  NURNBERO  STOVE. 

some  wooden  toy  and  some  rosy  apples  to  put  in  her 
little  sister's  socks. 

"  Father  Max  has  promised  me  a  big  goose,  because 
I  saved  the  calf's  life  in  June,"  said  August ;  it  was 
ths  twentieth  time  he  had  told  them  so  that  month,  he 
was  so  proud  of  it. 

"  And  Aunt  Maila  will  be  sure  to  send  us  wine  and 
honey  and  a  barrel  of  flour ;  she  always  does,"  said 
Albrecht.  Their  aunt  Maila  had  a  chalet  and  a  little 
farm  over  on  the  green  slopes  towards  Dorp  Ampas. 

"  I  shall  go  up  into  the  woods  and  get  Hirschvogel's 
crown,"  said  August;  they  always  crowned  Hirsch- 
vogel  for  Christmas  with  pine  boughs  and  ivy  and 
mountain-berries.  The  heat  soon  withered  the  crown ; 
but  it  was  part  of  the  religion  of  the  day  to  them,  as 
much  so  as  it  was  to  cross  themselves  in  church  and 
raise  their  voices  in  the  "  O  Salutaris  Hostia  " 

And  they  fell  chatting  of  all  they  would  do  on  the 
Christ-night,  and  one  little  voice  piped  loud  against 
another's,  and  they  were  as  happy  as  though  their 
stockings  would  be  full  of  golden  purses  and  jewelled 
toys,  and  the  big  goose  in  the  soup-pot  seemed  to  them 
such  a  meal  as  kings  would  envy. 

In  the  midst  of  their  chatter  and  laughter  a  blast  of 
frozen  air  and  a  spray  of  driven  snow  struck  like  ice 
through  the  room,  and  reached  them  even  in  the  warmth 
of  the  old  wolf-skins  and  the  great  stove.  It  was  the 
door  which  had  opened  and  let  in  the  cold ;  it  wa« 
their  father  who  had  come  home. 

The  younger  children  ran  joyous  to  meet  him. 
Dorothea  pushes'  the  one  wooden  arm-chair  of  the 
room  to  the  stove,  and  August  flew  to  set  the  jug  of 


THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE.  77 

beer  on  a  little  round  table,  and  fill  a  long  clay  pipe  ; 
for  their  father  was  good  to  them  all,  and  seldom 
raised  his  voice  in  anger,  and  they  had  been  trained  by 
the  mother  they  had  loved  to  dutifulness  and  obedience 
and  a  watchful  affection. 

To-night  Karl  Strehla  responded  very  wearily  to  the 
young  ones'  welcome,  and  came  to  the  wooden  chair 
with  a  tired  step  and  sat  down  heavily,  not  noticing 
either  pipe  or  beer. 

"Are  you  not  well,  dear  father?"  his  daughter 
asked  him. 

"  I  am  well  enough,"  he  answered,  dully,  and  sat 
there  with  his  head  bent,  letting  the  liishted  pipe  grow 
cold. 

He  was  a  fair,  tall  man,  gray  before  his  time,  and 
bowed  with  labor. 

"  Take  the  children  to  bed,"  he  said,  suddenly,  at 
last,  and  Dorothea  obeyed.  August  stayed  behind, 
curled  before  the  stove ;  at  nine  years  old,  and  when 
one  earns  money  in  the  summer  from  the  farmers,  one 
is  not  altogether  a  child  any  more,  at  least  in  one's  own 
estimation. 

August  did  not  heed  his  father's  silence :  he  was 
used  to  it.  Karl  Strehla  was  a  man  of  few  words,  and, 
being  of  weakly  health,  was  usually  too  tired  at  the 
end  of  the  day  to  do  more  than  drink  his  beer  and 
sleep.  August  lay  on  the  wolf-skin,  dreamy  and  com- 
fortab.e,  looking  up  through  his  drooping  eyelids  at 
the  goiden  coronets  on  the  crest  of  the  great  stove,  and 
wondering  for  the  millionth  time  whom  it  had  been 
made  for,  ana  what  grand  places  and  scenes  it  had 
known 


78  THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE. 

Dorothea  came  down  from  putting  the  little  ones  in 
their  beds ;  the  cuckoo-clock  in  the  corner  struck  eight ; 
she  looked  to  her  father  and  the  untouched  pipe,  then 
sat  down  to  her  spinning,  saying  nothing.  She  thought 
he  had  been  drinking  in  some  tavern ;  it  had  been  often 
80  with  him  of  late. 

There  was  a  long  silence;  the  cuckoo  called  the 
quarter  twice;  August  dropped  asleep,  his  curls  fall- 
ing over  his  face;  Dorothea's  wheel  hummed  like  a 
eat. 

Suddenly  Karl  Strehla  struck  his  hand  on  the  table, 
sending  the  pipe  on  the  ground. 

"  I  have  sold  Hirschvogel,"  he  said ;  and  his  voice 
was  husky  and  ashamed  in  his  throat.  The  spinning- 
wheel  stopped.     August  sprang  erect  out  of  his  sleep. 

"  Sold  Hirschvogel !"  If  their  father  had  dashed 
the  holy  crucifix  on  the  floor  at  their  feet  and  spat  on 
it,  they  could  not  have  shuddered  under  the  horror  of 
a  greater  blasphemy. 

"  I  have  sold  Hirschvogel !"  said  Karl  Strehla,  in 
the  same  husky,  dogged  voice.  "  I  have  sold  it  to  a 
travelling  trader  in  such  things  for  two  hundred  florins. 
What  would  you? — I  owe  double  that.  He  saw  it 
this  morning  when  you  were  all  out.  He  will  pack  it 
and  take  it  to  Munich  to-morrow." 

Dorothea  gave  a  low  shrill  cry : 

"  Oh,  father ! — the  children — in  mid-winter !" 

She  turned  white  as  the  snow  without;  her  words 
died  away  in  her  throat. 

Augnst  stood,  half  blind  with  sleep,  staring  with 
da^ed  eyes  as  his  cattle  stared  at  the  sun  when  they 
name  out  from  their  winter's  prison. 


THE  NURNBERO  STOVE.  79 

"  It  is  not  true !  It  is  not  true  I"  he  muttered. 
*  You  are  jesting,  father  ?" 

Strehla  broke  into  a  dreary  laugh. 

"  It  is  true.  Would  you  like  to  know  what  is  true 
too? — that  the  bread  you  eat,  and  the  meat  you  put  in 
this  pot,  and  the  roof  you  have  over  your  heads,  are 
none  of  them  paid  for,  have  been  none  of  them  paid 
for  for  months  and  months :  if  it  had  not  been  for  your 
grandfather  I  should  have  been  in  prison  all  summer 
and  autumn,  and  he  is  out  of  patience  and  will  do  no 
more  now.  There  is  no  work  to  be  had ;  the  masters 
go  to  younger  men  :  they  say  I  work  ill ;  it  may  be  so. 
Who  can  keep  his  head  above  water  with  ten  hungry 
children  dragging  him  down  ?  When  your  mother 
lived,  it  was  different.  Boy,  you  stare  at  me  as  if  I 
were  a  mad  dog !  You  have  made  a  god  of  yon  china 
thing.  Well — it  goes :  goes  to-morrow.  Two  hun- 
dred florins,  that  is  something.  It  will  keep  me  out 
of  prison  for  a  little,  and  with  the  spring  things  may 
turn " 

August  stood  like  a  creature  paralyzed.  His  eyes 
were  wide  open,  fastened  on  his  father's  with  terror  and 
incredulous  horror ;  his  face  had  grown  as  white  as  hia 
sister's ;  his  chest  heaved  with  tearless  sobs. 

"  It  is  not  true  I  It  is  not  true !"  he  echoed,  stupidly. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  very  skies  must  fall,  and 
the  earth  perish,  if  they  could  take  away  Hirschvogel. 
They  might  as  soon  talk  of  tearing  down  God's  sun 
out  of  the  heavens. 

"  You  will  find  it  true,"  said  his  father,  doggedly, 
and  angered  because  he  was  in  his  own  soul  bitterly 
ashamed  to  have  bartered  away  the  heirloom  and  treas- 


80  THE  NURNBERG  STOVE. 

are  of  his  race  and  the  comfort  and  health-giver  of  his 
young  children.  "  You  will  find  it  true.  The  dealer 
has  paid  me  half  the  money  to-night,  and  will  pay  me 
the  other  half  to-morrow  when  he  packs  it  up  and 
takes  it  away  to  Munich.  No  doubt  it  is  worth  a  great 
deal  more, — at  least  I  suppose  so,  as  he  gives  that, — 
but  beggars  cannot  be  choosers.  The  little  black  stove 
in  the  kitchen  will  warm  you  all  just  as  well.  Who 
would  keep  a  gilded,  painted  thing  in  a  poor  house  like 
this,  when  one  can  make  two  hundred  florins  by  it  ? 
Dorothea,  you  never  sobbed  more  when  your  mother 
died.  What  is  it,  when  all  is  said  ? — a  bit  of  hard- 
ware much  too  grand-looking  for  such  a  room  as  this. 
If  all  the  Strehlas  had  not  been  born  fools  it  would 
have  been  sold  a  century  ago,  when  it  was  dug  up 
out  of  the  ground.  'It  is  a  stove  for  a  museum,' 
the  trader  said  when  he  saw  it.  To  a  museum  let  it 
go." 

August  gave  a  shrill  shriek  like  a  hare's  when  it  is 
caught  for  its  death,  and  threw  himself  on  his  knees 
at  his  father's  feet. 

"Oh,  father,  father!"  he  cried,  convulsively,  his 
hands  closing  on  Strehla's  knees,  and  his  uplifted  face 
blanched  and  distorted  with  terror.  "  Oh,  father,  dear 
father,  you  cannot  mean  what  you  say?  Send  it  away 
—our  life,  our  sun,  our  joy,  our  comfort  ?  We  shall 
all  die  in  the  dark  and  the  cold.  Sell  me  rather.  Sell 
me  to  any  trade  or  any  pain  you  like;  I  will  not  mind. 
But  Hirschvogel ! — it  is  like  selling  the  very  cross  off 
the  altar !  You  must  be  in  jest.  You  could  not  do 
Buoh  a  thing — you  coula  not ! — you  who  have  always 
been  gentle  and  good,  and  who  have  sat  in  the  warmth 


THE  NtfRNBERQ  STOVE.  81 

here  year  after  year  with  our  mother.  It  Ls  not  a 
piece  of  hardware,  as  you  say ;  it  is  a  living  thing,  for 
a  great  man's  thoughts  and  fancies  have  put  life  into 
it,  and  it  loves  us  though  we  are  only  poor  little  chil- 
dren, and  we  love  it  with  all  our  hearts  and  souls,  and 
up  in  heaven  I  am  sure  the  dead  Hirschvogel  knows ! 
Oh,  listen ;  I  will  go  and  try  and  get  work  to-morrow ! 
I  will  ask  them  to  let  me  cut  ice  or  make  the  paths 
through  the  snow.  There  must  be  something  I  could 
do,  and  I  will  beg  the  people  we  owe  money  to  to  wait; 
they  are  all  neighbors,  they  will  be  patient.  But  sell 
Hirschvogel ! — oh,  never  I  never !  never  I  Give  the 
florins  back  to  the  vile  man.  Tell  him  it  would  be 
like  selling  the  shroud  out  of  mother's  coffin,  or  the 
golden  curls  off  Ermengilda's  head  I  Oh,  father,  dear 
father  I  do  hear  me,  for  pity's  sake  1" 

Strehla  was  moved  by  the  boy's  anguish.  He  loved 
his  children,  though  he  was  often  weary  of  them,  and 
their  pain  was  pain  to  him.  But  besides  emotion,  and 
stronger  than  emotion,  was  the  anger  that  August 
roused  in  him :  he  hated  and  despised  himself  for  the 
barter  of  the  heirloom  of  his  race,  and  every  word  of 
the  child  stung  him  vrith  a  stinging  sense  of  shame. 

And  he  spoke  in  his  wrath  rather  than  in  his  sorrow. 

"  You  are  a  little  fool,"  he  said,  harshly,  as  they  had 
never  heard  him  speak.  "  You  rave  like  a  play-actor. 
Get  up  and  go  to  bed.  The  stove  is  sold.  There  is 
-10  more  to  be  said.  Children  like  you  have  nothing 
to  do  with  such  matters.  The  stove  is  sold,  and  goes 
to  Munich  to-morrow.  What  is  it  to  you  ?  Be  thank- 
ful I  can  get  bread  for  you.  Get  on  youi  legs,  I  say, 
an*  go  to  bed." 
6 


82  'PSE  nVrnlerq  stove. 

Strehla  took  up  the  jug  of  ale  as  he  paused,  and 
drained  it  slowly  as  a  man  who  had  no  cares. 

August  sprang  to  his  feet  and  threw  his  hair  back 
off  his  face;  the  blood  rushed  into  his  cheeks,  making 
them  scarlet;  his  great  soft  eyes  flamed  alight  with 
Airious  passion. 

"You  dare  not!"  he  cried,  aloud,  "you  dare  not  sell 
it,  I  say  !     It  is  not  yours  alone  ;  it  is  ours " 

Strehla  flung  the  emptied  jug  on  tlie  bricks  with  a 
force  that  shivered  it  to  atoms,  and,  rising  to  his  feet, 
struck  his  son  a  blow  that  felled  him  to  the  floor.  It 
was  the  first  time  ''n  all  his  life  that  he  had  ever  raised 
his  hand  against  sny  one  of  his  children. 

Then  he  took  the  oil-lamp  that  stood  at  his  elbow 
and  stumbled  off  to  his  own  chamber  with  a  cloud 
before  his  eyes. 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  said  August,  a  little  while 
later,  as  he  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  Dorothea  weeping 
above  him  on  the  wolf-skin  before  the  stove.  He  had 
been  struck  backward,  and  his  head  had  fallen  on  the 
hard  bricks  where  the  wolf-skin  did  not  reach.  He 
eat  up  a  moment,  with  his  face  bent  upon  his  hands. 

"I  remember  now,"  he  said,  very  low,  under  his 
breath. 

Dorothea  showered  kisses  on  him,  while  her  tears 
fell  like  rain. 

"  But,  oh,  dear,  how  could  you  speak  so  to  father  ?" 
she  murmured.     "  It  was  very  wrong." 

"  No,  I  was  right,"  said  August,  and  his  little  mouth, 
that  hitlierto  had  only  curled  in  laughter,  curved  down- 
ward with  a  fixed  and  bitter  seriousness.  "  How  dare 
he?     How  dare  he?'  he  muttered,  with  his  head  simk 


'IT  IS    A  SIN,  IT  IS  A  THEFT,  IT  IS  AN  INFAVY,"    HE  SAID 


THE  NURNBERG   STOVE.  83 

ill  his  hands.  "  It  is  not  his  alone.  It  belongs  to  ug 
all.     It  Ls  as  much  yours  and  mine  as  it  is  his," 

Dorothea  could  only  sob  in  answer.  She  was  too 
frightened  to  speak.  The  authority  of  their  parents 
in  the  house  had  never  in  her  remembrance  been  ques- 
tioned. 

"  Are  you  hurt  by  the  fall,  dear  August  ?"  she  mur- 
mured, at  length,  for  he  looked  to  her  so  pale  and 
strange. 

"Yes — no.    I  do  not  know.    What  does  it  matter?" 

He  sat  up  upon  the  wolf-skin  with  passionate  pain 
upon  his  face ;  all  his  soul  was  in  rebellion,  and  he  was 
only  a  child  and  was  powerless. 

"  It  is  a  sin ;  it  is  a  theft ;  it  is  an  infamy,"  he  said, 
slowly,  his  eyes  fastened  on  the  gilded  feet  of  Hirsoh- 
vogel. 

"  Oh,  August,  do  not  say  such  things  of  father !" 
sobbed  his  sister.  "  Whatever  he  does,  we  ought  to 
think  it  right." 

August  laughed  aloud. 

"  Is  it  right  that  he  should  spend  his  money  in 
drink? — that  he  should  let  orders  lie  unexecuted? — 
that  he  should  do  his  work  so  ill  that  no  one  cares  to 
employ  him? — that  he  should  live  on  grandfather's 
charity,  and  then  dare  sell  a  thing  that  is  ours  every 
whit  as  much  as  it  is  his  ?  To  sell  Hirschvogel !  Oh, 
dear  God  !  I  would  sooner  sell  my  soul !" 

"  August !"  cried  Dorothea,  with  piteous  entreaty. 
He  terrified  her,  she  could  not  recognize  her  little,  gay, 
gentL-  brother  in  those  fierce  and  blasphemous  wordf=. 

August  laughed  aloud  again ;  then  all  at  once  hi?* 
laughter  broke  down  into  bitterest  weeping.    He  threw 


84  THE  NtJRNBERQ  STOVE. 

himself  forward  on  the  stove,  covering  it  with  kisBes, 
and  sobbing  as  though  his  heart  would  burst  from  his 
bosom. 

What  could  he  do  ?    Nothing,  nothing,  nothing  1 

"  August,  dear  August,"  whispered  Dorothea,  pite- 
ously,  and  trembling  all  over, — for  she  was  a  very 
gentle  girl,  and  fierce  feeling  terrified  her, — "  August, 
do  not  lie  there.  Come  to  bed:  it  is  quite  late.  In 
the  morning  you  will  be  calmer.  It  is  horrible  indeed, 
and  we  shall  die  of  cold,  at  least  the  little  ones ;  but 
if  it  be  father's  will " 

"Let  me  alone,"  said  August,  through  his  teeth, 
Btriving  to  still  the  storm  of  sobs  that  shook  him  from 
head  to  foot.  "  Let  me  alone.  In  the  morning ! — how 
can  you  speak  of  the  morning  ?" 

"Come  to  bed,  dear,"  sighed  his  sister.  "Oh, 
August,  do  not  lie  and  look  like  that !  you  frighten 
me.     Do  come  to  bed." 

"  I  shall  stay  here." 

"  Here  I  all  night  I" 

"  They  might  take  it  in  the  night.  Besides,  to  leave 
it  now  /" 

"  But  it  is  cold  I  the  fire  is  out." 

"  It  will  never  be  warm  any  more,  nor  shall  we." 

AH  his  childhood  had  gone  out  of  him,  all  his  glee- 
ful, careless,  sunny  temper  had  gone  with  it ;  he  spoke 
sullenly  and  wearily,  choking  down  the  great  sobs  in 
his  chest  To  him  it  was  as  if  the  end  of  the  world 
had  come. 

His  sister  lingered  by  him  while  striving  to  persuade 
him  to  go  to  his  place  in  the  little  crowded  bedchamber 
with  Albrecht  and  Waldo  and  Christof.     But  it  was 


TEE  NVRNBERQ  STOVE.  85 

In  vain.  "  I  shall  stay  here,"  was  all  he  answered  her. 
And  he  stayed, — all  the  night  long. 

The  lamps  went  out ;  the  rats  came  and  ran  acroaa 
the  floor ;  as  the  hours  crept  on  through  midnight  and 
past,  the  cold  intensified  and  the  air  of  the  room  grew 
like  ice.  August  did  not  move ;  he  lay  with  his  face 
downward  on  the  golden  and  rainbow-hued  pedestal  of 
the  household  treasure,  which  henceforth  was  to  be  cold 
for  evermore,  an  exiled  thing  in  a  foreign  city  in  a  far- 
off  land. 

Whilst  yet  it  was  dark  his  three  elder  brothers  came 
down  the  stairs  and  let  themselves  out,  each  bearing  hia 
lantern  and  going  to  his  work  in  stone-yard  and  timber- 
yard  and  at  the  salt-works.  They  did  not  notice  him  j 
they  did  not  know  what  had  happened. 

A  little  later  his  sister  came  down  with  a  light  in 
her  hand  to  make  ready  the  house  ere  morning  should 
break. 

She  stole  up  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder 
timidly. 

"  Dear  August,  you  must  be  frozen.  August,  do 
look  up  I  do  speak !" 

August  raised  his  eyes  with  a  wild,  feverish,  sullen 
look  in  them  that  she  had  never  seen  there.  His  face 
was  ashen  white :  his  lips  were  like  fire.  He  had  not 
slept  all  night ;  but  his  passionate  sobs  had  given  way 
to  delirious  waking  dreams  and  numb  senseless  trances, 
which  had  alternated  one  on  another  all  through  the 
freezing,  lonely,  horrible  hours. 

"  It  will  never  be  warm  again,"  he  muttered,  "  never 
again!" 

Dorothea  clasped  him  with  trembling  hands 


86  THE  NURNBERG  STOVE. 

"  August !  do  you  not  know  me  ?"  she  cried,  in  an 
agony.  "  I  am  Dorothea.  Wake  up,  dear — wake  up  1 
It  is  morning,  only  so  dark !" 

August  shuddered  all  over. 

^*  The  morning !"  he  echoed. 

He  slowly  rose  up  on  to  his  feet. 

"  I  will  go  to  grandfather,"  he  said,  very  low.  "  He 
is  always  good :  perhaps  he  could  save  it." 

Loud  blows  with  the  heavy  iron  knocker  of  the 
house-door  drowned  his  words.  A  strange  voice  called 
aloud  through  the  keyhole, — 

"  Let  me  in  !  Quick ! — there  is  no  time  to  lose  I 
More  snow  like  this,  and  the  roads  will  all  be  blocked. 
Let  me  in  !  Do  you  hear  ?  I  am  come  to  take  the 
great  stove." 

August  sprang  erect,  his  fists  doubled,  his  eyes 
blazing. 

"  You  shall  never  touch  it  I"  he  screamed ;  "  you 
shall  never  touch  it !" 

"  Who  shall  prevent  us  ?"  laughed  a  big  man,  who 
was  a  Bavarian,  amused  at  the  fierce  little  figure  fronting 
him. 

"  I !"  said  August.  "  You  shall  never  have  it  I  you 
shall  kill  me  first !" 

"  Strehla,"  said  the  big  man,  as  August's  father 
entered  the  room,  "  you  have  got  a  little  mad'dog  here : 
muzzle  him." 

One  way  and  another  they  did  muzzle  him.  He 
fought  like  a  little  demon,  and  hit  out  right  and  left, 
and  one  of  his  blows  gave  the  Bavarian  a  black  eye. 
But  he  was  soon  mastered  by  four  grown  men,  and  hia 
father  flung  hin-  with  no  light  hand  out  from  the  doof 


THE  NVRNBERO   STOVE.  87 

of  the  back  entrance,  and  the  buyers  of  the  stately  and 
beautiful  stove  set  to  work  to  pack  it  heedfully  and 
carry  it  away. 

When  Dorothea  stole  out  to  look  for  August,  he  was 
nowhere  in  sight.  She  went  back  to  little  'Gilda,  who 
was  ailing,  and  sobbed  over  the  child,  whilst  the  others 
stood  looking  on,  dimly  understanding  that  with 
Hirschvogel  was  going  all  the  warmth  of  their  bodies, 
all  the  light  of  their  hearth. 

Even  their  father  now  was  sorry  and  ashamed ;  but 
two  hundred  florins  seemed  a  big  sum  to  him,  and, 
after  all,  he  thought  the  children  could  warm  them- 
selves quite  a;3  well  at  the  black  iron  stove  in  the 
kitchen.  Besides,  whether  he  regretted  it  now  or  not, 
the  work  of  the  Niirnberg  potter  was  sold  irrevocably, 
and  he  had  to  stand  still  and  see  the  men  from  Munich 
wrap  it  in  manifold  wrappings  and  bear  it  out  into  the 
snowy  air  to  where  an  ox-cart  stood  in  waiting  for  it. 

In  another  moment  Hirschvogel  was  gone, — gone 
forever  and  aye. 

August  had  stood  still  for  a  time,  leaning,  sick  and 
faint  from  the  violence  that  had  been  used  to  him, 
against  the  back  wall  of  the  house.  The  wall  looked 
on  a  court  where  a  well  was,  and  the  backs  of  other 
houses,  and  beyond  them  the  spire  of  the  Muntze 
Tower  and  the  peaks  of  the  mountains. 

Into  the  court  an  old  neighbor  hobbled  for  water, 
and,  seeing  the  boy,  said  to  him, — 

"  Child,  is  it  true  your  father  is  selling  the  big  painted 
stove?" 

Aufirust  nodded  nis  head,  then  burst  into  a  passion  o{ 
tears 


88  THE  nVRNBERQ  stove. 

"Well,  for  sure  he  is  a  fool,"  said  the  neighbor. 
"  Heaven  forgive  me  for  calling  him  so  before  his  own 
child  I  but  the  stove  was  worth  a  mint  of  money.  I 
do  remember  in  my  young  days,  in  old  Anton's  time 
(that  was  your  great-grandfather,  my  lad),  a  stranger 
from  Vienna  saw  it,  and  said  that  it  was  worth  its 
weight  in  gold." 

August's  sobs  went  on  their  broken,  impetuous 
course. 

"  I  loved  it !  I  loved  it !"  he  moaned.  "  I  do  not 
care  what  its  value  was.     I  loved  it  I     /  hved  it  /" 

"  You  little  simpleton !"  said  the  old  man,  kindly. 
"  But  you  are  wiser  than  your  father,  when  all's  said. 
If  sell  it  he  must,  he  should  have  taken  it  to  good 
Plerr  Steiner  over  at  Spriiz,  who  would  have  given 
him  honest  value.  But  no  doubt  they  took  him  over 
his  beer, — ay,  ay !  but  if  I  were  you  I  would  do  better 
than  cry.     I  would  go  after  it." 

August  raised  his  head,  the  tears  raining  down  hia 
cheeks. 

"  Go  after  it  when  you  are  bigger,"  said  the  neigh- 
bor, with  a  good-natured  wish  to  cheer  him  up  a  little. 
"  The  world  is  a  small  thing  after  all :  I  was  a  travel- 
ling clockmaker  once  upon  a  time,  and  I  know  that 
your  stove  will  be  safe  enough  whoever  gets  it ;  any- 
thing that  can  be  sold  for  a  round  sum  is  always 
wrapped  up  in  cotton  wool  by  everybody.  Ay,  ay, 
don't  cry  so  much ;  you  will  see  your  stove  again  some 
day.' 

Then  ihfi  old  man  hoooled  away  to  draw  his  brazen 
pais  full  of  water  at  the  well. 

August  remained  leaning  against  the  wall ;  his  head 


THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE.  89 

was  buzzing  and  his  heart  fluttering  with  the  new  idea 
which  had  presented  itself  to  his  mind.  "  Go  after 
it,"  had  said  the  old  man.  He  thought,  "  Why  not  go 
with  it  ?"  He  loved  it  better  than  any  one,  even  better 
than  Dorothea ;  and  he  shrank  from  the  thought  of 
meeting  his  father  again,  his  father  who  had  sold 
Hirschvogel. 

He  was  by  this  time  in  that  state  of  exaltation  in 
which  the  impossible  looks  quite  natural  and  common- 
place. His  tears  were  still  wet  on  his  pale  cheeks,  but 
they  had  ceased  to  fall.  He  ran  out  of  the  court-yard 
by  a  little  gate,  and  across  to  the  huge  Gothic  porch  of 
the  church.  From  there  he  could  watch  unseen  his 
father's  house-door,  at  which  were  always  hanging  some 
blue-and-gray  pitchers,  such  aa  are  common  and  so 
picturesque  in  Austria,  for  a  part  of  the  house  was  let 
to  a  man  who  dealt  in  pottery. 

He  hid  himself  in  the  grand  portico,  which  he  had 
fio  often  passed  through  to  go  to  mass  or  complir 
within,  and  presently  his  heart  gave  a  great  leap,  foi 
he  saw  the  straw-enwrapped  stove  brought  out  and  laid 
with  infinite  care  on  the  bullock-dray.  Two  of  the 
Bavarian  men  mounted  beside  it,  and  the  sleigh-wagon 
slowly  crept  over  the  snow  of  the  place, — snow  crisp 
and  hard  as  stone.  The  noble  old  minster  looked  ita 
grandest  and  most  solemn,  with  its  dark-gray  stone 
and  its  vast  archways,  and  its  porch  that  was  itself  as 
big  as  many  a  church,  and  its  strange  gargoyles  and 
lamp-irons  black  against  the  snow  on  its  roof  and 
on  the  pavement;  but  for  once  August  had  no  eyes 
for  it:  he  only  watched  for  his  old  friend.  Then 
he,  a  little   unnoticeable   figure  enough,  like  a  score 


90  THE  N  URN  BERG  STOVE. 

of  other  boys  in  Hall,  crept,  unseen  by  any  of  tof 
brothers  or  sisters,  out  of  the  porch  and  over  the 
shelving  uneven  square,  and  followed  in  the  wake  of 
the  dray. 

Its  course  lay  towards  the  station  of  the  railway, 
which  is  close  to  the  salt-works,  whose  smoke  at  times 
sullies  this  part  of  clean  little  Hall,  though  it  does  not 
do  very  much  damage.  From  Hall  the  iron  road 
runs  northward  through  glorious  country  to  Salzburg, 
Vienna,  Prague,  Buda,  and  southward  over  the  Bren- 
ner into  Italy.  Was  Hirschvogel  going  north  or  south? 
This  at  least  he  would  soon  know. 

August  had  often  hung  about  the  little  station,  watch- 
ing the  trains  come  and  go  and  dive  into  the  heart  of 
the  hiUs  and  vanish.  No  one  said  anything  to  him 
for  idling  about ;  people  are  kind-hearted  and  easy  of 
temper  in  this  pleasant  land,  and  children  and  dogs  are 
both  happy  there.  He  heard  the  Bavarians  arguing 
and  vociferating  a  great  deal,  and  learned  that  they 
meant  to  go  too  and  wanted  to  go  with  the  great  stove 
itself.  But  this  they  could  not  do,  for  neither  could 
the  stove  go  by  a  passenger-train  nor  they  themselves 
go  in  a  goods-train.  So  at  length  they  insured  their 
precious  burden  for  a  large  sum,  and  consented  to  send 
it  by  a  luggage-train  which  was  to  pass  through  Hall 
in  half  an  hour.  The  swift  trains  seldom  deign  to 
notice  the  existence  of  Hall  at  all. 

August  heard,  and  a  desperate  reeoKe  made  itseli* 
up  in  his  little  mind.  Where  Hirschvogel  went  would 
he  go.  He  gav«  one  terrible  thought  to  Dorothea — 
poor,  geuile  Dorothea ' —sitting  in  the  cold  at  home, 
thea  jsot  bo  work  to  execute  his  project.     How  lie  man' 


THE  NVRNBERG   stove.  91 

aged  it  he  never  knew  very  clearly  himself,  but  certain 
it  is  that  when  the  goods-train  from  the  aorth,  that 
had  come  all  the  way  from  Linz  on  the  Danube, 
moved  out  of  Hall,  August  was  hidden  behind  the 
stove  in  the  great  covered  truck,  and  wedged,  unseen 
and  undreamt  of  by  any  human  creature,  amidst  the 
cases  of  wood- carving,  of  clocks  and  clock-work,  of 
Vienna  toys,  of  Turkish  carpets,  of  Russian  skins,  of 
Hungarian  wines,  which  shared  the  same  abode  as  did 
his  swathed  and  bound  Hirschvogel.  No  doubt  he 
was  very  naughty,  but  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
he  was  so :  his  whole  mind  and  soul  were  absorbed  in 
the  one  entrancing  idea,  to  follow  his  beloved  friend 
and  fire-king. 

It  was  very  dark  in  the  closed  truck,  which  had  only 
a  Kttle  window  above  the  door  ;  and  it  was  crowded, 
and  had  a  strong  smell  in  it  from  the  Russian  hides 
and  the  hams  that  were  in  it.  But  August  was  not 
frightened;  he  was  close  to  Hirschvogel,  and  pres- 
ently he  meant  to  be  closer  still ;  for  he  meant  to  do 
nothing  less  than  get  inside  Hirschvogel  itself.  Being 
a  shrewd  little  boy,  and  having  had  by  great  luck 
two  silver  groschen  in  his  breeches-pocket,  which  he 
had  earned  the  day  before  by  chopping  wood,  he  had 
bought  some  bread  and  sausage  at  the  station  of  a 
woman  there  who  knew  him,  and  who  thought  he  was 
going  out  to  his  uncle  Joachim's  chalet  above  Jen- 
bach.  This  he  had  with  him,  and  this  he  ate  m  the 
darkness  and  the  lumbering,  pounding,  thundering 
noise  which  made  him  giddy,  as  never  had  he  been 
in  a  train  of  any  kind  before.  Still  he  ate,  having 
had  no  ^^reakfast,  and  being  a  child,  and  half  a  German, 


92  THE  N&RNBER&  STOVE. 

and  not  knowing  at  all  how  or  when  he  ever  would 
eat  again. 

When  he  had  eaten,  not  as  much  as  he  wanted,  but 
as  much  as  he  thought  was  prudent  (for  who  could  say 
when  he  would  be  able  to  buy  anything  more?),  he  set 
to  work  like  a  little  mouse  to  make  a  hole  in  the  withes 
of  straw  and  hay  which  enveloped  the  stove.  If  it  had 
been  put  in  a  packing-case  he  would  have  been  defeated 
at  the  onset.  As  it  was,  he  gnawed,  and  nibbled,  and 
pulled,  and  pushed,  just  as  a  mouse  would  have  done, 
making  his  hole  where  he  guessed  that  the  opening  of 
the  stove  was, — the  opening  through  which  he  had  so 
often  thrust  the  big  oak  logs  to  feed  it.  No  one  dis- 
turbed him ;  the  heavy  train  went  lumbering  on  and 
on,  and  he  saw  nothing  at  all  of  the  beautiful  moun- 
tains, and  shining  waters,  and  great  forests  through 
which  he  was  being  carried.  He  was  hard  at  work 
getting  through  the  straw  and  hay  and  twisted  ropes ; 
and  get  through  them  at  last  he  did,  and  found  the 
door  of  the  stove,  which  he  knew  so  well,  and  which 
was  quite  large  enough  for  a  child  of  his  age  to  slip 
through,  and  it  was  this  which  he  had  counted  upon 
doing.  Slip  through  he  did,  as  he  had  often  done  at 
home  for  fun,  and  curled  himself  up  there  to  see  if  he 
could  anyhow  remain  during  many  hours.  He  found 
that  he  could ;  air  came  in  through  the  brass  fret-work 
of  the  stove;  and  with  admirable  caution  in  such  a 
little  fellow  he  leaned  out,  drew  the  hay  and  straw  to- 
gether, and  rearranged  the  ropes,  so  that  no  one  could 
ever  have  dreamed  %  little  mouse  had  been  at  them. 
Then  he  curlea  himrfelf  up  again,  this  time  more  like 
a  dormouse  tLan  anything  else ;  and,  being  safe  inside 


THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE.  93 

his  dear  Hirschvogel  and  intensely  cold,  he  w^ent  fast 
asleep  as  if  he  were  in  his  own  bed  at  home  with  Al- 
brecht  and  Christof  on  either  side  of  him.  The  train 
lumbered  on,  stopping  often  and  long,  as  the  habit  of 
goods-trains  is,  sweeping  the  snow  away  with  its  cow- 
switcher,  and  rumbling  through  the  deep  heart  of  the 
mountains,  with  its  lamps  aglow  like  the  eyes  of  a  dog 
in  a  night  of  frost. 

The  train  rolled  on  in  its  heavy,  slow  fashion,  and 
the  child  slept  soundly  for  a  long  while.  When  he 
did  awake,  it  was  quite  dark  outside  in  the  land ;  he 
could  not  see,  and  of  course  he  was  in  absolute  dark- 
ness ;  and  for  a  while  he  was  sorely  frightened,  and 
trembled  terribly,  and  sobbed  in  a  quiet  heart-broken 
fashion,  thinking  of  them  all  at  home.  Poor  Doro- 
thea !  how  anxious  she  would  be !  How  she  would 
run  over  the  town  and  walk  up  to  grandfather's  at 
Dorf  Ampas,  and  perhaps  even  send  over  to  Jenbach, 
thinking  he  had  taken  refuge  with  Uncle  Joachim  1 
His  conscience  smote  him  for  the  sorrow  he  must  be 
even  then  causing  to  his  gentle  sister;  but  it  never 
occurred  to  him  to  try  and  go  back.  If  he  once  were 
to  lose  sight  of  Hirschvogel  how  could  he  ever  hope  to 
find  it  again  ?  how  could  he  ever  know  whither  it  had 
gone, — north,  south,  east,  or  west  ?  The  old  neighboi 
had  said  that  the  world  was  small ;  but  August  knew 
at  least  that  it  must  have  a  great  many  places  in  it : 
that  he  had  seen  himself  on  the  maps  on  his  school- 
house  walls.  Almost  any  other  little  boy  would,  I 
taink,  have  been  frightened  out  of  his  wits  at  the  po- 
sition in  which  he  found  himself;  but  August  was 
brave,  and  he  had  a  firm  belief  that  God  and  Hirsch- 


91  THE  NVRNBERG  stove. 

vogel  would  take  care  of  him.  The  master-potter  oi 
Niirnberg  was  always  present  to  his  mind,  a  kindly, 
benign,  and  gracious  spirit,  dwelling  manifestly  in  that 
porcelain  tower  whereof  he  had  been  the  maker. 

A  droll  fancy,  you  say?  But  every  child  with  a 
Boul  in  him  has  quite  as  quaint  fancies  as  this  one  was 
of  August's. 

So  he  got  over  his  terror  and  his  sobbing  both, 
though  he  was  so  utterly  in  the  dark.  He  did  not 
feel  cramped  at  all,  because  the  stove  was  so  large,  and 
air  he  had  in  plenty,  as  it  came  through  the  fret- work 
running  round  the  top.  He  was  hungry  again,  and 
again  nibbled  with  prudence  at  his  loaf  and  his  sausage. 
He  could  not  at  all  tell  the  hour.  Every  time  the  train 
stopped  and  he  heard  the  banging,  stamping,  shouting, 
and  jangling  of  chains  that  went  on,  his  heart  seemed 
to  jump  up  into  his  mouth.  If  they  should  find  him 
out !  Sometimes  porters  came  and  took  away  this  case 
and  the  other,  a  sack  here,  a  bale  there,  now  a  big  bag, 
now  a  dead  chamois.  Every  time  the  men  trampled 
near  him,  and  swore  at  each  other,  and  banged  this 
and  that  to  and  fro,  he  was  so  frightened  that  his  very 
breath  seemed  to  stop.  When  they  came  to  lift  the 
stove  out,  would  they  find  him  ?  and  if  they  did  find 
him,  would  they  kill  him  ?  That  was  what  he  kept 
thinking  of  all  the  way,  all  through  the  dark  hours, 
which  seemed  without  end.  The  goods-trains  are 
usually  very  slow,  and  are  many  days  doing  what  a 
quick  train  do^  in  a  few  hours.  This  one  was  quicker 
than  most,  because  it  was  bearing  goods  to  the  King 
of  Bavaria;  stilly  it  took  all  the  short  winter's  day 
aad  thfe  long  winter's  night  and  half  another  day  to  go 


THE  NURNBERG   STOVE.  95 

over  ground  that  the  mail- trains  cover  in  a  forenoon. 
It  passed  great  armored  Kuffstein  standing  acrass  the 
beautiful  and  solemn  gorge,  denying  the  right  of  way 
to  all  the  foes  of  Austria.  It  passed  twelve  hours  later, 
after  lying  by  in  out-of-the-way  stations,  prett}^  Eosen- 
heim,  that  marks  the  border  of  Bavaria.  And  here 
the  Niirnberg  stove,  with  August  inside  it,  was  lifted 
out  heedfully  and  set  under  a  covered  way.  When  it 
was  lifted  out,  the  boy  had  hard  work  to  keep  in  his 
screams ;  he  was  tossed  to  and  fro  as  the  men  lifted  the 
huge  thing,  and  the  earthenware  walls  of  his  beloved 
fire-king  were  not  cushions  of  down.  However,  though 
they  swore  and  grumbled  at  the  weight  of  it,  they  never 
suspected  that  a  living  child  was  inside  it,  and  they 
carried  it  out  on  to  the  platform  and  set  it  down  under 
the  roof  of  the  goods-shed.  There  it  passed  the  rest 
of  the  night  and  all  the  next  morning,  and  August 
was  all  the  while  within  it. 

The  winds  of  early  winter  sweep  bitterly  over  Ro- 
senheim, and  all  the  vast  Bavarian  plain  was  one  white 
sheet  of  snow.  If  there  had  not  been  whole  armies  of 
men  at  work  always  clearing  the  iron  rails  of  the  snow, 
no  trains  could  ever  have  run  at  all.  Happily  for 
August,  the  thick  wrappings  in  which  the  stove  was 
enveloped  and  the  stoutness  of  its  own  make  screened 
him  from  the  cold,  of  which,  else,  he  must  have  died, — 
frozen.  He  had  still  some  of  his  loaf,  and  a  little — a 
very  little — of  his  sausage.  What  he  did  begin  to 
suffer  from  was  thirst ;  and  this  frightened  him  almost 
more  than"  anything  eise,  for  Dorothea  had  read  aloud 
to  them  one  night  a  story  of  the  tortures  some  wrecked 
men  baa  en^iired  because  they  could  not  find  any  wa1«T 


96  THE  NPRNBERQ  stove. 

but  the  salt  sea.  It  was  many  hours  since  he  had  last 
taken  a  drink  from  the  wooden  spout  of  their  old 
pump,  which  brought  them  the  sparkling,  ice-cold 
water  of  the  hills. 

But,  fortunately  for  him,  the  stove,  having  been 
marked  and  registered  as  "  fragile  and  valuable,"  was 
not  treated  quite  like  a  mere  bale  of  goods,  and  the 
Rosenheim  station-master,  who  knew  its  consignees, 
resolved  to  send  it  on  by  a  passenger-traia  that  would 
leave  there  at  daybreak.  And  when  this  train  went 
out,  in  it,  among  piles  of  luggage  belonging  to  other 
travellers,  to  Vienna,  Prague,  Buda-Pest,  Salzburg, 
was  August,  still  undiscovered,  still  doubled  up  like 
a  mole  in  the  winter  under  the  grass.  Those  words, 
"fragile  and  valuable,"  had  made  the  men  lift  Hirsch- 
vogel  gently  and  with  care.  He  had  begun  to  get 
used  to  his  prison,  and  a  little  used  to  the  incessant 
pounding  and  jumbling  and  rattling  and  shaking  with 
which  modern  travel  is  always  accompanied,  though 
modern  invention  does  deem  itself  so  mightily  clever. 
All  in  the  dark  he  was,  and  he  was  terribly  thirsty ; 
but  he  kept  feeling  the  earthenware  sides  of  the  Niirn- 
berg  giant  and  saying,  softly,  "  Take  care  of  me ;  oh, 
take  care  of  me,  dear  Hirschvogel !" 

He  did  not  say,  "  Take  me  back ;"  for,  now  that  he 
was  fairly  out  in  the  world,  he  wished  to  see  a  little  of 
it.  He  began  to  think  that  they  must  have  been  all 
over  the  world  in  all  this  time  that  the  rolling  and 
roaring  and  hissing  and  jangling  had  been  about  his 
ears  ?tut  up  in  the  dark,  he  began  to  remember  all 
the  tales  that  had  been  told  in  Yule  round  the  fire  at 
his  g'lmr'.father's  good  house  at  Dorf,  of  gnomes  and 


THE  NifRNBERQ  STOVE.  97 

elven  and  subterranean  terrors,  and  the  Erl  King 
riding  on  the  black  horse  of  night,  and — and — and 
he  began  to  sob  and  to  tremble  again,  and  this  time 
did  scream  outright.  But  the  steam  was  screaming 
itself  so  loudly  that  no  one,  had  there  been  any  one 
nigh,  would  have  heard  him ;  and  in  another  minute 
or  so  the  train  stopped  with  a  jar  and  a  jerk,  and  he 
in  his  cage  could  hear  men  crying  aloud,  "  Miinchen  I 
Miinchen !" 

Then  he  knew  enough  of  geography  to  know  that 
he  was  in  the  heart  of  Bavaria.  He  had  had  an  uncle 
killed  in  the  Bayerischenwald  by  the  Bavarian  forest 
guards,  when  in  the  excitement  of  hunting  a  black 
bear  he  had  overpassed  the  limits  of  the  Tyrol  fron- 
tier. 

That  fate  of  his  kinsman,  a  gallant  young  chamois- 
hunter  who  had  taught  him  to  handle  a  trigger  and 
load  a  muzzle,  made  the  very  name  of  Bavaria  a 
terror  to  August. 

"  It  is  Bavaria  I  It  is  Bavaria !"  he  sobbed  to  the 
stove ;  but  the  stove  said  nothing  to  him ;  it  had  no  fire 
in  it.  A  stove  can  no  more  speak  without  fire  than  a 
man  can  see  without  light.  Give  it  fire,  and  it  will 
sing  to  you,  tell  tales  to  you,  offer  you  in  return  all 
the  sympathy  you  ask. 

"  It  is  Bavaria !"  sobbed  August ;  for  it  is  always  a 
name  of  dread  augury  to  the  Tyroleans,  by  reason  of 
those  bitter  struggles  and  midnight  shots  and  untimely 
deaths  which  come  from  those  meetings  of  jager  and 
hunter  in  the  Ba'^^rischenwald.  But  the  train  stopped; 
Munich  was  reached,  and  August,  hot  and  cold  by 
turns,  and  flhaking  like  a  little  aspen-leaf,  felt  himself 
7 


98  THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE 

once  more  carried  out  on  the  shoulders  of  men,  rolled 
along  on  a  truck,  and  finally  set  down,  where  he  knew 
not,  only  he  knew  he  was  thirsty, — so  thirsty !  If 
only  he  could  have  reached  his  hand  out  and  scooped 
up  a  little  snow ! 

He  thought  he  had  been  moved  on  this  truck  many 
miles,  but  in  truth  the  stove  had  been  only  taken  from 
the  railway-station  to  a  shop  in  the  Marienplatz. 
Fortunately,  the  stove  was  always  set  upright  on  its 
four  gilded  feet,  an  injunction  to  that  effect  having 
been  affixed  to  its  written  label,  and  on  its  gilded  feet 
it  stood  now  in  the  small  dark  curiosity-shop  of  one 
Hans  Rhilfer. 

"  I  shall  not  unpack  it  till  Anton  comes,"  he  heard 
a  man's  voice  say ;  and  then  he  heard  a  key  grate  in  a 
lock,  and  by  the  unbroken  stillness  that  ensued  he  con- 
cluded he  was  alone,  and  ventured  to  peep  through  the 
straw  and  hay.  What  he  saw  was  a  small  square  room 
filled  with  pots  and  pans,  pictures,  carvings,  old  blue 
jugs,  old  steel  armor,  shields,  daggers,  Chinese  idols, 
Vienna  china,  Turkish  rugs,  and  all  the  art  lumber 
and  fabricated  rubbish  of  a  bric-ct-brac  dealer's.  It 
seemed  a  wonderful  place  to  him ;  but,  oh  I  was  there 
one  drop  of  water  in  it  all?  That  was  his  single 
thought ;  for  his  tongue  was  parching,  and  his  throat 
felt  on  fire,  and  his  chest  began  to  be  dry  and  choked 
as  with  dust.  There  was  not  a  drop  of  water,  but 
there  was  a  lattice  window  grated,  and  beyond  the 
window  was  a  wide  stone  ledge  covered  with  sno\^ 
August  cast  one  look  at  the  locked  door,  darted  out  of 
his  hiding-place,  ran  and  opened  the  window,  crammed 
the  sncw  into  his  mouth  again  and  again,  and  then 


AUGrST    OPENED   THE    WINIXiW,    fkAMMKli   THE   SXo«"    ]NT<)    }1TS    MdUTH  ALAIN  ANfi  AGAIN 


THE  NURNBERQ   STOVE.  99 

flew  hack  into  the  stove,  dre\v  the  hay  and  sti^w  over 
the  place  he  entered  by,  tied  the  cords,  and  shut  the 
brass  door  down  on  himself.  He  had  brought  some 
big  icicles  in  with  him,  and  by  them  his  thirst  was 
finally,  if  only  temporarily,  quenched.  Then  he  sat 
still  in  the  bottom  of  the  stove,  listening  intently,  wide 
awake,  and  once  more  recovering  his  natural  bold- 
ness. 

The  thought  of  Dorothea  kept  nipping  his  heart 
and  his  conscience  with  a  hard  squeeze  now  and  then ; 
but  he  thought  to  himself,  "  If  I  can  take  her  back 
Hirschvogel,  then  how  pleased  she  will  be,  and  how 
little  'Gilda  will  clap  her  hands !"  He  was  not  at  all 
selfish  in  his  love  for  Hirschvogel :  he  wanted  it  for 
them  all  at  home  quite  as  much  as  for  himself.  There 
was  at  the  bottom  of  his  mind  a  kind  of  ache  of  shame 
that  his  father — his  own  father — should  have  stripped 
their  hearth  and  sold  their  honor  thus. 

A  robin  had  been  perched  upon  a  stone  griffin 
sculptured  on  a  house-eave  near.  August  had  felt  for 
the  crumbs  of  his  loaf  in  his  pocket,  and  had  thrown 
them  to  the  little  bird  sitting  so  easily  on  the  frozen 
snow. 

In  the  darkness  where  he  was  he  now  heard  a  little 
song,  made  faint  by  the  stove-wall  and  the  window- 
glass  that  was  between  him  and  it,  but  still  distinct 
and  exquisitely  sweet.  It  was  the  robin,  singing  after 
feeding  on  the  crumbs.  August,  as  he  heard,  burst 
into  tears.  He  thought  of  Dorothea,  who  every  morn- 
ing tlirew  out  some  grain  or  some  bread  on  the  snow 
before  th^  church.  " What  use  is  it  going  there"  she 
Ba'd,  **  if  we  forget  the  sweetest  creatures  God  faae 


100  THE  NVRNBERG  stove. 

made  ?"  Poor  Dorothea  I  Poor,  good,  teirder,  much- 
burdened  little  soul !  He  thought  of  her  till  his  tears 
ran  like  rain. 

Yet  it  never  once  occurred  to  him  to  dream  of  going 
home.     Hirschvogel  was  here. 

Presently  the  key  turned  in  the  lock  of  the  door ; 
he  heard  heavy  footsteps  and  the  voice  of  the  man 
who  had  said  to  his  father,  "  You  have  a  little  mad 
dog;  muzzle  him!"  The  voice  said,  "Ay,  ay,  you 
have  called  me  a  fool  many  times.  Now  you  shall  see 
what  I  have  gotten  for  two  hundred  dirty  florins. 
Potztav^end  I  never  did  you  do  such  a  stroke  of  work." 

Then  the  other  voice  grumbled  and  swore,  and  the 
steps  of  the  two  men  approached  more  closely,  and  the 
heart  of  the  child  went  pit-a-pat,  pit-a-pat,  as  a  mouse's 
does  when  it  is  on  the  top  of  a  cheese  and  hears  a 
housemaid's  broom  sweeping  near.  They  began  to 
strip  the  stove  of  its  wrappings :  that  he  could  tell  by 
the  noise  they  made  with  the  hay  and  the  straw.  Soon 
they  had  stripped  it  wholly :  that,  too,  he  knew  by  the 
oaths  and  exclamations  of  wonder  and  surprise  and 
rapture  which  broke  from  the  man  who  had  not  seen 
it  before. 

"  A  right  royal  thing !  A  wonderful  and  never-to- 
be-rivalled  thing  I  Grander  than  the  great  stove  of 
Hohen-Salzburg  I     Sublime  I  magnificent !  matchless  I" 

Sr  the  epithets  ran  on  in  thick  guttural  voices,  dif- 
fusing a  smell  of  lager-beer  so  strong  as  they  spoke  that 
it  reached  August  crouching  in  his  stronghold.  If 
they  should  open  the  door  of  the  stove!  That  was 
his  frantic  fear.  If  they  should  open  it,  it  would  be 
all  over  with  him.     They  would  drag  him  out ;  mofl^ 


THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE.  101 

likely  they  would  kill  him,  he  thought,  as  his  mother's 
young  brother  had  been  killed  in  the  Wald. 

The  perspiration  rolled  off  his  forehead  in  his  agony ; 
but  he  had  control  enough  over  himself  to  keep  quiet, 
and  after  standing  by  the  Niirnberg  master's  work  for 
nigh  an  hour,  praising,  marvelling,  expatiating  in  the 
lengthy  German  tongue,  the  men  moved  to  a  little 
distance  and  began  talking  of  sums  of  money  and  di- 
vided profits,  of  which  discourse  he  could  make  out  no 
meaning.  All  he  could  make  out  was  that  the  name  of 
the  king — the  king — the  king  came  over  very  often  in 
their  arguments.  He  fancied  at  times  they  quarrelled, 
for  they  swore  lustily  and  their  voices  rose  hoarse  and 
high ;  but  after  a  while  tliey  seemed  to  pacify  each  other 
and  agree  to  something,  and  were  in  great  glee,  and  so 
in  these  merry  spirits  came  and  slapped  the  luminous 
sides  of  stately  Ilirschvogel,  and  shouted  to  it, — 

"  Old  Mumchance,  you  have  brought  us  rare  good 
luck  1  To  think  you  were  smoking  in  a  silly  fool  of  a 
salt-baker's  kitchen  all  these  years  !" 

Then  inside  the  stove  August  jumped  up,  with 
flaming  cheeks  and  clinching  hands,  and  was  almost  on 
the  point  of  shouting  out  to  them  that  they  were  the 
thieves  and  should  say  no  evil  of  his  father,  when  h* 
remembered,  just  in  time,  that  to  breathe  a  word  or 
make  a  sound  was  to  bring  ruin  on  himself  and  sever 
him  forever  from  Hirschvogel.  So  he  kept  quite  still, 
and  the  men  barred  the  shutters  of  the  little  lattice  and 
went  out  by  the  door,  double-locking  it  after  them. 
He  had  made  out  from  their  talk  that  they  were  going 
to  shew  Hirschvogel  to  some  great  person :  therefore 
be  kept  quite  still  and  dared  not  move. 


X02  THE  NiJRNBERO   STOVE. 

Muffled  sounds  came  to  him  through  the  fehuttere 
from  the  streets  below, — the  rolling  of  wheels,  the 
clanging  of  church-bells,  and  bursts  of  that  military 
music  which  is  so  seldom  silent  in  the  streets  of  Mu- 
nich. An  hour  perhaps  passed  by ;  sounds  of  steps  on 
the  stairs  kept  him  in  perpetual  apprehension.  Iiv  the 
intensity  of  his  anxiety,  he  forgot  that  he  was  hungry 
and  many  miles  away  from  cheerful.  Old  World  little 
Hall,  lying  by  the  clear  gray  river-water,  with  the 
ramparts  of  the  mountains  all  around. 

Presently  the  door  opened  again  sharply.  He  could 
hear  the  two  dealers'  voices  murmuring  unctuous  words, 
in  which  "  honor,"  "  gratitude,"  and  many  fine  long 
noble  titles  played  the  chief  parts.  The  voice  of  an- 
other person,  more  clear  and  refined  than  theirs,  an- 
swered them  curtly,  and  then,  close  by  the  Niiruberg 
stove  and  the  boy's  ear,  ejaculated  a  single  "  Wunder- 
sehon  !"  August  almost  lost  his  terror  for  himself  in 
his  thrill  of  pride  at  his  beloved  Hirschvogel  being 
thus  admired  in  the  great  city.  He  thought  the  master- 
potter  must  be  glad  too. 

"  Wunderschon !"  ejaculated  the  stranger  a  second 
time,  and  then  examined  the  stove  in  all  its  parts,  read 
all  its  mottoes,  gazed  long  on  all  its  devices. 

"  It  must  have  been  made  for  the  Emperor  Maxi- 
milian," he  said  at  last ;  and  the  poor  little  boy,  mean- 
while, within,  was  "  hugged  up  into  nothing,"  as  you 
children  say,  dreading  that  every  moment  he  would 
open  the  stove.  And  open  it  truly  he  did,  and  ex- 
amined the  brass-work  of  the  door ;  but  inside  it  was 
m  ^lark  that  crouching  August  passed  unnoticed, 
screwed  up  into  a  ball  like  a  hedgehog  as  he  was. 


TEE  NdRNBERQ  STOVE.  103 

The  gentleman  shut  to  the  door  at  length,  without 
having  seen  anything  strange  inside  it;  and  then  he 
talked  long  and  low  with  the  tradesmen,  and,  as  hia 
accent  was  different  from  that  which  August  was  used 
to,  the  child  could  distinguish  little  that  he  said,  except 
the  name  of  the  king  and  the  word  "gulden"  again 
and  again.  After  a  while  he  went  away,  one  of  the 
dealers  accompanying  him,  one  of  them  lingering  be- 
hind to  bar  up  the  shutters.  Then  this  one  also 
withdrew  again,  double-locking  the  door. 

The  poor  little  hedgehog  uncurled  itself  and  dared 
to  breathe  aloud. 

What  time  was  it  ? 

Late  in  the  day,  he  thought,  for  to  accompany  the 
stranger  they  had  lighted  a  lamp;  he  had  heard  the 
scratch  of  the  match,  and  through  the  brass  fret- work 
had  seen  the  lines  of  light. 

He  would  have  to  pass  the  night  here,  that  was  cer- 
tain. He  and  Hirschvogel  were  locked  in,  but  at  least 
they  were  together.  If  only  he  could  have  had  some- 
thing to  eat!  He  thought  witli  a  pang  of  how  at  this 
hour  at  home  they  ate  the  sweet  soup,  sometimes  with 
apples  in  it  from  Aunt  Mai'la's  farm  orchard,  and  sang 
together,  and  listened  to  Dorothea's  reading  of  little 
tales,  and  basked  in  the  glow  and  delight  that  had 
beamed  on  them  from  the  great  Niirnberg  fire-king. 

"Oh,  poor,  poor  little  'Gilda!  What  is  she  doing 
without  the  dear  Hirschvogel  ?"  he  thought.  Poor 
little  'Gilda !  she  had  only  now  the  black  iron  stove  of 
the  ugly  little  kitchen.     Oh,  how  cruel  of  father ! 

August  could  not  bear  to  hear  the  dealers  blame  oi 
laugh  at  h.ift  father,  but  he  did  feel  that  it  had  been  so, 


104  THE  NURNBERG  STOVE. 

BO  cruel  to  sell  Hirsclivogel.  The  mere  memory  of  ail 
those  long  winter  evenings,  when  they  had  all  closed 
round  it,  and  roasted  chestnuts  or  crab-apples  in  it,  and 
listened  to  the  howling  of  the  wind  and  the  deep 
sound  of  the  church-bells,  and  tried  very  much  to 
make  each  other  believe  that  the  wolves  still  came 
down  from  the  mountains  into  the  streets  of  Hall,  and 
were  that  very  minute  growling  at  the  house  door, — 
all  this  memory  coming  on  him  with  the  sound  of  the 
city  bells,  and  the  knowledge  that  night  drew  near 
upon  him  so  completely,  being  added  to  his  hunger 
and  his  fear,  so  overcame  him  that  he  burst  out  crying 
for  the  fiftieth  time  since  he  had  been  inside  the  stove, 
and  felt  that  he  would  starve  to  death,  and  won- 
dered dreamily  if  Hirschvogel  would  care.  Yes,  he 
was  sure  Hirschvogel  would  care.  Had  he  not  decked 
it  all  summer  long  with  alpine  roses  and  edelweiss  and 
heaths  and  made  it  sweet  with  thyme  and  honeysuckle 
and  great  garden-lilies  ?  Had  he  ever  forgotten  when 
Santa  Claus  came  to  make  it  its  crown  of  holly  and 
ivy  and  wreathe  it  all  around  ? 

"  Oh,  shelter  me ;  save  me ;  take  care  of  me !"  he 
prayed  to  the  old  fire-king,  and  forgot,  poor  little  man, 
that  he  had  come  on  this  wild-goose  chase  northward 
to  save  and  take  care  of  Hirschvogel ! 

After  a  time  he  dropped  asleep,  as  children  can  do 
when  they  weep,  and  little  robust  hill-born  boys  most 
eurely  do,  be  they  where  they  may.  It  was  not  very 
cold  in  this  lumber-room ;  it  was  tightly  shut  up,  and 
very  full  of  things,  and  at  the  back  of  it  were  the  hot 
^Hpes  of  an  a«?jacent  house,  where  a  great  deal  of  fuel 
was  burpt      Moreover,  Augusts  clothes  were  warm 


TEE  NtJRNBERO  STOVE.  105 

onea,  and  his  blood  was  young.  So  he  was  not  cold, 
though  Munich  is  terribly  cold  in  the  nights  of  Decem- 
ber ;  and  he  slept  on  and  on, — which  was  a  comfort  to 
hina,  for  he  forgot  his  woes,  and  his  perils,  and  his 
hunger,  for  a  time. 

Midnight  was  once  more  chiming  from  all  tlie 
brazen  tongues  of  the  city  when  he  awoke,  and,  all 
being  still  around  him,  ventured  to  put  his  head  out  of 
the  brass  door  of  the  stove  to  see  why  such  a  strange 
bright  light  was  round  him. 

It  was  a  very  strange  and  brilliant  light  indeed; 
and  yet,  what  is  perhaps  still  stranger,  it  did  not 
frighten  or  amaze  him,  nor  did  what  he  saw  alarm 
him  either,  and  yet  I  think  it  would  have  done  you  or 
me.  For  what  he  saw  was  nothing  less  than  all  the 
bric-d,-brac  in  motion. 

A  big  jug,  an  Apostel-Krug,  of  Kruessen,  was  sol- 
emnly dancing  a  minuet  with  a  plump  Faenza  jar ;  a 
tall  Dutch  clock  was  going  through  a  gavotte  with  a 
spindle-legged  ancient  chair;  a  very  droll  porcelain 
figure  of  Littenhausen  was  bowing  to  a  very  stiff  sol- 
dier in  terre  cuite  of  Ulm;  an  old  violin  of  Cremona 
was  playing  itself,  and  a  queer  little  shrill  plaintive 
music  that  thought  itself  merry  came  from  a  painted 
spinnet  covered  with  faded  roses ;  some  gilt  Spanish 
leather  had  got  up  on  the  wall  and  laughed ;  a  Dresden 
mirror  was  tripping  about,  crowned  with  flowers,  and  a 
Japanese  bonze  was  riding  along  on  a  griffin ;  a  slim 
Venetian  rapier  had  come  to  blows  with  a  stout  Fer- 
rara  sabre,  all  about  a  little  pale-faced  chit  of  a  damsel 
m  white  Nymphenburg  :hina ;  and  a  portly  Franconian 
pitcher  in  ffrh  gria  was  calling  aloud,  "  Oh,  these  Ital 


106  THE  NURNBERG  stove. 

ians  I  always  at  feud !"  But  nobody  listened  to  him 
at  all.  A  great  number  of  little  Dresden  cups  and 
saucers  were  all  skipping  and  waltzing;  the  teapots, 
with  their  broad  round  faces,  were  spinning  their  own 
lids  like  teetotums ;  the  high-backed  gilded  chairs  were 
having  a  game  of  cards  together;  and  a  little  Saxe 
poodle,  with  a  blue  ribbon  at  its  throat,  was  running 
from  one  to  another,  whilst  a  yellow  cat  of  Cornelia 
Lachtleven's  rode  about  on  a  Delft  horse  in  blue  pot- 
tery of  1489.  Meanwhile  the  brilliant  light  shed  on 
the  scene  came  from  three  silver  candelabra,  though 
they  had  no  candles  set  up  in  them ;  and,  what  is  the 
greatest  miracle  of  all,  August  looked  on  at  these  mad 
freaks  and  felt  no  sensation  of  wonder !  He  only,  as 
he  heard  the  violin  and  the  spinnet  playing,  felt  an 
irresistible  desire  to  dance  too. 

No  doubt  his  face  said  what  he  wished ;  for  a 
lovely  little  lady,  all  in  pink  and  gold  and  white,  with 
powdered  hair,  and  high-heeled  shoes,  and  all  made 
of  the  very  finest  and  fairest  Meissen  china,  tripped  up 
to  him,  and  smiled,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  and  led 
him  out  to  a  minuet.  And  he  danced  it  perfectly, — 
poor  little  August  in  his  thick,  clumsy  shoes,  and  his 
thick,  clumsy  sheepskin  jacket,  and  his  rough  home- 
spun linen,  and  his  broad  Tyrolean  hat !  He  must 
have  danced  it  perfectly,  this  dance  of  kings  and  queens 
in  days  when  crowns  were  duly  honored,  for  the  lovely 
lady  always  smiled  benignly  and  never  scolded  him  at 
all,  *nd  danced  so  divinely  herself  to  the  stately  meas- 
urbD  the  Fpinnet  was  playing  that  August  could  not 
iake  his  eyes  off  her  till,  their  minuet  ended,  she  sal 
down  on  her  own  white-and-gold  bracket 


THE  NURNBERO   STOVE.  107 

"  1  am  the  Princess  of  Saxe-Royale,"  she  said  to 
him,  with  a  benignant  smile ;  "  and  you  have  got 
through  that  minuet  very  fairly." 

Then  he  ventured  to  say  to  her, — 

"  Madame  my  princess,  could  you  tell  me  kindly 
why  some  of  the  figures  and  furniture  dance  and  speak, 
and  some  lie  up  in  a  corner  like  lumber?  It  doe? 
make  me  curious.     Is  it  rude  to  ask  ?" 

For  it  greatly  puzzled  him  why,  when  some  of  the 
bric-ci-braG  was  all  full  of  life  and  motion,  some  was 
quite  still  and  had  not  a  single  thrill  in  it. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  powdered  lady,  "  is  it 
j)0ssible  that  you  do  not  know  the  reason  ?  Why, 
those  silent,  dull  things  are  imitation  !" 

This  she  said  with  so  much  decision  that  she  evi- 
dently considered  it  a  condensed  but  complete  answer. 

"  Imitation  ?"  repeated  August,  timidly,  not  under- 
standing. 

"  Of  course !  Lies,  falsehoods,  fabrications !"  said 
the  princess  in  pink  shoes,  very  vivaciously.  "  They 
only  'pretend  to  be  what  we  are !  They  never  wake 
up :  how  can  they  ?  No  imitation  ever  had  any  soul  in 
it  yet." 

"  Oh  !"  said  August,  humbly,  not  even  sure  that  he 
understood  entirely  yet.  He  looked  at  Hirschvogel  • 
surely  it  had  a  royal  soul  within  it :  would  it  not  wake 
up  and  speak  ?  Oh  dear  1  how  he  longed  to  hear  the 
voice  of  his  fire-king  1  And  he  began  to  forget  that 
he  stood  by  a  lady  who  sat  upon  a  pedestal  of  gold- 
and-white  china,  with  the  year  1746  cut  on  it,  and  the 
Meissen  maric. 

"  What  will  you  be  when  you  are  a  man  ?"  said  the 


108  THE  NiJRNBERG  STOVE. 

little  lady,  sharply,  for  her  black  eyes  were  quick 
though  her  red  lips  were  smiling.  "  Will  you  work 
for  the  Konigliche  PoreeUan-Manufadur,  like  my  great 
deadKandler?" 

"  I  have  never  thought,"  said  August,  stammering ; 
■^at  least — that  is — I  do  wish — I  do  hope  to  be  a 
painter,  as  was  Master  Augustin  Hirsehvogel  at  Niirn- 
berg." 

"  Bravo !"  said  all  the  real  hrie-h-hrac  in  one  breath  , 
and  the  two  Italian  rapiers  left  off  fighting  to  cry, 
"Benone  I"  For  there  is  not  a  bit  of  true  bric-ct-brao 
in  all  Europe  that  does  not  know  the  names  of  the 
mighty  masters. 

August  felt  quite  pleased  to  have  won  so  much 
applause,  and  grew  as  red  as  the  lady's  shoes  with 
bashful  contentment. 

"  I  knew  all  the  Hirsehvogel,  from  old  Veit  down- 
wards," said  a  fat  gr^  de  Flandre  beer-jug :  "  I  myself 
was  made  at  Niirnberg."  And  he  bowed  to  the  great 
stove  very  politely,  taking  off  his  own  silver  hat — 1 
mean  lid — with  a  courtly  sweep  that  he  could  scarcely 
have  learned  from  burgomasters.  The  stove,  however, 
was  silent,  and  a  sickening  suspicion  (for  what  is  such 
heart-break  as  a  suspicion  of  what  we  love?)  (iame 
through  the  mind  of  August:  Was  Hirsehvogel  only 
imitaiion  f 

"No,  no,  no,  no!"  he  said  to  himself,  stoutly:  though 
Hirsehvogel  never  stirred,  never  spoke,  yet  would  he 
keep  all  faith  in  it  After  all  their  happy  years  to- 
ge%er,  after  all  the  nights  of  warmth  and  joy  he  owed 
it,  should  he  doubt  his  own  friend  and  hero,  whose 
gilt  lior's  feet  he  had  kissed  in  his  babyhood?     No, 


THE  NURNBERG  STOVE.  109 

no,  no,  no !"  he  said,  again,  with  so  much  emphasis 
that  the  Lady  of  Meissen  looked  sharply  again  at  him. 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  pretty  disdain ;  "  no,  believe 
me,  they  may  '  pretend'  forever.  They  can  never  look 
like  us !  They  imitate  even  our  marks,  but  never  can 
they  look  like  the  real  thing,  never  can  they  chasseni 
de  race." 

"  How  should  they  ?"  said  a  bronze  statuette  of 
Vischer's.  "  They  daub  themselves  green  with  ver- 
digris, or  sit  out  in  the  rain  to  get  rusted ;  but  green 
and  rust  are  not  patina  ;  only  the  ages  can  give  that !" 

"And  my  imitations  are  all  in  primary  colors,  staring 
colors,  hot  as  the  colors  of  a  hostelry's  sign-board !" 
said  the  Lady  of  Meissen,  with  a  shiver. 

"  Well,  there  is  a  gr^  de  Flandre  over  there,  who 
pretends  to  be  a  Hans  Kraut,  as  I  am,"  said  the  jug 
with  the  silver  hat,  pointing  with  his  handle  to  a  jug 
tliat  lay  prone  on  its  side  in  a  corner.  "  He  has  copied 
me  as  exactly  as  it  is  given  to  moderns  to  copy  us. 
Almost  he  might  be  mistaken  for  me.  But  yet  what 
a  difference  there  is  !  How  crude  are  his  blues  !  how 
evidently  done  over  the  glaze  are  his  black  letters  I 
He  has  tried  to  give  himself  my  very  twist ;  but  what 
a  lamentable  exaggeration  of  that  playful  deviation  in 
my  lines  which  in  his  becomes  actual  deformity !" 

"  And  look  at  that,"  said  the  gilt  Cordovan  leather, 
with  a  contemptuous  glance  at  a  broad  piece  of  gilded 
leather  spread  out  on  a  table.  "  They  will  sell  him 
cheek  by  jowl  with  me,  and  give  him  my  name ;  but 
look !  /  am  overlaid  with  pure  gold  beaten  thin  as  a 
film  and  laid  on  me  in  absolute  honesty  by  worthy 
Diego  de  las  Garg'as,  worker  in  leather  of  lovely  Cor- 


£10  '^^^  NifRNBERG   STOVE. 

dova  in  the  blessed  reip;n  of  Ferdinand  the  Mosi 
Christian.  Ilis  gilding  is  one  part  gold  to  eleven 
other  parts  of  brass  and  rubbish,  and  it  has  been  laid 
on  him  with  a  brush — a  brush ! — pah !  of  course  hf 
will  be  as  black  as  a  crock  in  a  few  years'  time,  whilst 
I  am  as  bright  as  when  I  first  was  made,  and,  unless  I 
am  burnt  as  my  Cordova  burnt  its  heretics,  I  shall 
shine  on  forever." 

"  They  carve  pear- wood  because  it  is  so  soft,  and  dyt 
it  brown,  and  call  it  me  !"  said  an  old  oak  cabinet,  with 
a  chuckle. 

"  That  is  not  so  painful ;  it  does  not  vulgarize  you 
so  much  as  the  cups  they  paint  to-day  and  christen 
after  me!"  said  a  Carl  Theodor  cup  subdued  in  hue, 
yet  gorgeous  as  a  jewel. 

"  Nothing  can  be  so  annoying  as  to  see  common 
gimcracks  aping  me/"  interposed  the  princess  in  the 
pink  shoes. 

"  They  even  steal  my  motto,  though  it  is  Scrip- 
ture," said  a  Trauerkrug  of  Regensburg  in  black-and- 
white. 

"  And  my  own  dots  they  put  on  plain  English  china 
creatures!"  sighed  the  little  white  maid  of  Nymphen- 
burg. 

"  And  they  sell  hundreds  and  thousands  of  common 
china  plates,  calling  them  after  me,  and  baking  my 
saints  and  my  legends  in  a  muffle  of  to-day ;  it  is  blas- 
phemy !"  said  a  stout  plate  of  Gubbio,  which  in  its 
year  of  birth  had  seen  the  face  of  Maestro  Giorgio. 

"  That  is  what  is  so  terrible  in  these  bric-d-brao 
places,"  said  the  princess  of  Meissen.  "  It  brings  one 
in  contact  with  such  low,  imitative  creatures;  one  really 


THE  NtJRNBERQ  STOVE.  Ill 

is  safe  nowhere  nowadays  unless  under  glass  at  the 
Louvre  or  South  Kensington." 

"  And  they  get  even  there,"  sighed  the  gr^  de  Man- 
dre.  "  A  terrible  thing  happened  to  a  dear  friend  of 
mine,  a  terre  cuite  of  Blasius  (you  know  the  terres  cuUes 
of  Blasius  date  from  1560).  ^yell,  he  was  put  under 
glass  in  a  museum  that  shall  be  nameless,  and  he  found 
himself  set  next  to  his  own  imitation  born  and  baked 
yesterday  at  Frankfort,  and  what  think  you  the  mis- 
erable creature  said  to  him,  with  a  grin?  'Old  Pipe- 
clay,'— that  is  what  he  called  my  friend, — '  the  fellow 
that  bought  me  got  just  as  much  commission  on  me  aa 
the  fellow  that  bought  you,  and  that  was  all  that  he 
thought  about.  You  know  it  is  only  the  public  money 
that  goes !'  And  the  horrid  creature  grinned  again  till 
he  actually  cracked  himself.  There  is  a  Providence 
above  all  things,  even  museums." 

"  Providence  might  have  interfered  before,  and  saved 
the  public  money,"  said  the  little  Meissen  lady  with 
the  pink  shoes. 

"After  all,  does  it  matter?"  said  a  Dutch  jar  of 
Haarlem.  "All  the  shamming  in  the  world  will  not 
make  them  us !" 

"One  does  not  like  to  be  vulgarized,"  said  tlie  Lady 
of  Meissen,  angrily. 

"My  maker,  the  Krabbetje,*  did  not  trouble  his 
head  about  that,"  said  the  Haarlem  jar,  proudly.  "The 
Krabbetje  made  me  for  the  kitchen,  the  bright,  clean, 
snow-wb'te  Dutch  kitchen,  wellnigh   three  centuries 

*  Jan  Asselyn,  called  Krabbetje,  tbe  Little  Crab,  born  1610j 
madter-potter  of  Delft  and  Haarlem. 


112  THE  NVRNBERO  STOVE. 

ago,  and  now  I  am  thought  worthy  the  palace ;  yet  I 
wish  I  were  at  home ;  yes,  I  wish  I  could  see  the  good 
Dutch  vrouw,  and  the  shining  canals,  and  the  great 
green  meadows  dotted  with  the  kine." 

"  Ah !  if  we  could  all  go  back  to  our  makers  1" 
sighed  the  Gubbio  plate,  thinking  of  Giorgio  Andreoli 
and  the  glad  and  gracious  days  of  the  Renaissance :  and 
somehow  the  words  touched  the  frolicsome  souls  of  the 
dancing  jars,  the  spinning  teapots,  the  chairs  that  were 
playing  cards ;  and  the  violin  stopped  its  merry  music 
with  a  sob,  and  the  spinnet  sighed, — thinking  of  dead 
hands. 

Even  the  little  Saxe  poodle  howled  for  a  master  for- 
ever lost;  and  only  the  swords  went  on  quarrelling, 
and  made  such  a  clattering  noise  that  the  Japanese 
bonze  rode  at  them  on  his  monster  and  knocked  them 
both  right  over,  and  they  lay  straight  and  still,  looking 
foolish,  and  the  little  Nymphenburg  maid,  though  she 
was  crying,  smiled  and  almost  laughed. 

Then  from  where  the  great  stove  stood  there  came  a 
solemn  voice. 

All  eyes  turned  upon  Hirschvogel,  and  the  heart  of 
its  little  human  comrade  gave  a  great  jump  of  joy. 

"  My  friends,"  said  that  clear  voice  from  the  turret 
of  Niirnberg  faience,  "  I  have  listened  to  all  you  have 
said.  There  is  too  much  talking  among  the  Mortalities 
whom  one  of  themselves  has  called  the  Windbags. 
Let  not  us  be  like  them.  I  hear  among  men  so  much 
vain  speech,  so  much  precious  breath  and  precious  time 
wasted  in  empty  boasts,  foolish  anger,  useless  reitera- 
tion, blatant  argument  ignoble  mouthings,  that  I  have 
learned  to  deem  speech  a  curse,  laid  on  man  to  weaken 


THE   NURNBERO  STOVE.  113 

and  envenom  all  his  undertakings.  For  over  two 
hundred  years  I  have  never  spoken  myself:  you,  I 
hear,  are  not  so  reticent.  I  only  speak  now  because 
one  of  you  said  a  beautiful  thing  that  touched  me.  If 
we  all  might  but  go  back  to  our  makers !  Ah,  yes  I 
if  we  might !  We  were  made  in  days  when  even  men 
were  true  creatures,  and  so  we,  the  work  of  their  hands, 
were  true  too.  We,  the  begotten  of  ancient  days,  de-- 
rive  all  the  value  in  us  from  the  fact  that  our  makers 
wrought  at  us  with  zeal,  with  piety,  with  integrity, 
with  faith, — not  to  win  fortunes  or  to  glut  a  market, 
but  to  do  nobly  an  honest  thing  and  create  for  the 
honor  of  the  Arte  and  God.  I  see  amidst  you  a  little 
human  thing  who  loves  me,  and  in  his  own  ignorant 
childish  way  loves  Art.  Now,  I  want  him  forever  to 
remember  this  night  and  these  words ;  to  remember 
that  we  are  what  we  are,  and  precious  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world,  because  centuries  ago  those  who  were  of 
single  mind  and  of  pure  hand  so  created  us,  scorning 
sham  and  haste  and  counterfeit.  Well  do  I  recollect 
my  master,  Augustin  Hirschvogel.  He  led  a  wise  and 
blameless  life,  and  wrought  in  loyalty  and  love,  and 
made  his  time  beautiful  thereby,  like  one  of  his  owoi 
rich,  many-colored  church  casemente,  that  told  holy 
tales  as  the  sun  streamed  through  them.  Ah,  yes,  my 
friends,  to  go  back  to  our  masters ! — that  would  be  the 
best  that  could  befall  us.  But  they  are  gone,  and  c  ven 
the  perishable  labors  of  their  lives  outlive  them.  For 
many,  many  years  I,  once  honored  of  emperors,  dwelt 
in  a  humble  house  and  warmed  in  successive  winters 
three  generations  of  little,  cold,  hungry  children. 
When  I  warmed  them  they  forgot  that  they  were 
8 


114  THE  NVRNBERG  stove. 

bungry ;  they  laughed  and  told  tales,  and  slept  at  last 
about  my  feet.  Then  I  knew  that  humble  as  had 
become  my  lot  it  was  one  that  my  master  would  have 
wished  for  me,  and  I  was  content.  Sometimes  a  tired 
woman  would  creep  up  to  me,  and  smile  because  she 
was  near  me,  and  point  out  my  golden  crown  or  my 
ruddy  fruit  to  a  baby  in  her  arms.  That  was  better 
than  to  stand  in  a  great  hall  of  a  great  city,  cold  and 
empty,  even  though  wise  men  came  to  gaze  and  throngs 
of  fools  gaped,  passing  with  flattering  words.  Where 
I  go  now  I  know  not ;  but  since  I  go  from  that  humble 
house  where  they  loved  me,  I  shall  be  sad  and  alone. 
They  pass  so  soon, — those  fleeting  mortal  lives  1  Only 
we  endure, — we,  the  things  that  the  human  brain  creates. 
We  can  but  bless  them  a  little  as  they  glide  by :  if  we 
have  done  that,  we  have  done  what  our  masters  wished. 
So  in  us  our  masters,  being  dead,  yet  may  speak  and 
live." 

Then  the  voice  sank  away  in  silence,  and  a  strange 
golden  light  that  had  shone  on  the  great  stove  faded 
away ;  so  also  the  light  died  down  in  the  silver  cande- 
labra. A  soft,  pathetic  melody  stole  gently  through 
the  room.  It  came  from  the  old,  old  spinnet  that  wah 
covered  with  the  faded  roses. 

Then  that  sad,  sighing  music  of  a  bygone  day  died 
too ;  the  clocks  of  the  city  struck  six  of  the  morning ; 
day  was  rising  over  the  Bayerischenwald.  August 
awoke  with  a  great  start,  and  found  himself  lying  on 
the  bare  bricks  of  the  floor  of  the  chamber,  and  all  the 
brio-d.-brac  was  lying  quite  still  all  around.  The 
pretty  jjady  of  Meissen  was  motionless  on  her  porcelain 
bracket,  and  the  little  Saxe  poodle  was  quiet  at  her  side. 


THE  NiJRNBERO   STOVE.  115 

He  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  He  was  very  cold,  bnt 
he  was  not  sensible  of  it  or  of  the  hunger  that  was 
gnawing  his  little  empty  entrails.  He  was  absorbed 
in  the  wondrous  sight,  in  the  wondrous  sounds,  that 
he  had  seen  and  heard. 

All  was  dark  around  him.  Was  it  still  midnight  or 
had  morning  come  ?  Morning,  surely  ;  for  against  the 
barred  shutters  he  heard  the  tiny  song  of  the  robin. 

Tramp,  tramp,  too,  came  a  heavy  step  up  the  stair. 
He  had  but  a  moment  in  which  to  scramble  back  into 
the  interior  of  the  great  stove,  when  the  door  opened 
and  the  two  dealers  entered,  bringing  burning  candles 
with  them  to  see  their  way. 

August  was  scarcely  conscious  of  danger  more  than 
he  was  of  cold  or  hunger.  A  marvellous  sense  of 
courage,  of  security,  of  happiness,  was  about  him,  like 
strong  and  gentle  arms  enfolding  him  and  lifting  him 
upwards — upwards — upwards  I  Hirschvogel  would 
defend  him. 

The  dealers  undid  the  shutters,  scaring  the  red- 
breast away,  and  then  tramped  about  in  their  heavy 
boots  and  chattered  in  contented  voices,  and  began  to 
wrap  up  the  stove  once  more  in  all  its  straw  and  hay 
and  cordage. 

It  never  once  occurred  to  them  to  glance  inside. 
Why  should  they  look  inside  a  stove  that  they  had 
bought  and  were  about  to  sell  again  for  all  its  glorious 
beauty  of  exterior? 

The  child  still  did  not  feel  afraid.  A  great  exal- 
tation had  oome  to  him :  he  was  like  one  lifted  up  by 
his  angels. 

Presently  the  two  traders  called  up  their  portera 


116  THE  NXJRNBERQ  STOVE. 

and  the  stove,  heedfully  swathed  and  wrapped  and 
tended  as  though  it  were  some  sick  prince  going  ya  a 
journey,  was  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  six  stout  Ba- 
varians down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  door  into  the 
Marienplatz.  Even  behind  all  those  wrappings  August 
felt  the  icy  bite  of  tlie  intense  cold  of  the  outer  air  at 
dawn  of  a  winter's  day  in  Munich.  The  men  moved 
the  stove  with  exceeding  gentleness  and  care,  so  that 
he  had  often  been  far  more  roughly  shaken  in  his  big 
brothers'  arms  than  he  was  in  his  journey  now ;  and 
though  both  hunger  and  thirst  made  themselves  felt, 
being  foes  that  will  take  no  denial,  he  was  still  in  that 
state  of  nervous  exaltation  which  deadens  all  physical 
suffering  and  is  at  once  a  cordial  and  an  opiate.  He 
had  heard  Hirschvogel  speak ;  that  was  enough. 

The  stout  carriers  tramped  through  the  city,  six  of 
them,  with  the  Niirnberg  fire-castle  on  their  brawny 
shoulders,  and  went  right  across  Munich  to  the  rail- 
way-station, and  August  in  the  dark  recognized  all 
the  ugly,  jangling,  pounding,  roaring,  hissing  railway- 
noises,  and  thought,  despite  his  courage  and  excitement, 
"  Will  it  be  a  very  long  journey  ?"  For  his  stomach 
had  at  times  an  odd  sinking  sensation,  and  his  head 
sadly  often  felt  light  and  swimming.  If  it  was  a  very, 
very  long  journey  he  felt  half  afraid  that  he  would  be 
dead  or  something  bad  before  the  end,  and  Hirsch- 
vogel would  be  so  lonely :  that  was  what  he  thought 
most  about ;  not  much  about  himself,  and  not  much 
about  Dorothea  and  the  house  at  home.  He  was 
"high  strung  to  high  emprise,"  and  could  not  look 
tehiad  him. 

Whether  f^r  a  long  or  a  short  journey,  whether  for 


THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE.  117 

weal  or  woe,  the  stove  with  August  still  within  it  was 
once  more  hoisted  up  into  a  great  van;  but  this  time  it 
was  not  all  alone,  and  the  two  dealers  as  well  as  the 
six  porters  were  all  with  it. 

He  in  his  darkness  knew  that ;  for  he  heard  theii 
voices.  The  train  glided  away  over  the  Bav^arian 
plain  southward;  and  he  heard  the  men  say  some- 
thing of  Berg  and  the  Wurm-See,  but  their  German 
was  strange  to  him,  and  he  could  not  make  out  what 
these  names  meant. 

The  train  rolled  on,  with  all  its  fume  and  fuss,  and 
roar  of  steam,  and  stench  of  oil  and  burning  coal.  It 
had  to  go  quietly  and  slowly  on  account  of  the  snow 
which  was  falling,  and  which  had  fallen  all  night. 

"  He  might  have  waited  till  he  came  to  the  city," 
grumbled  one  man  to  another,  "  What  weather  to 
stay  on  at  Berg !" 

But  who  he  was  that  stayed  on  at  Berg,  August 
could  not  make  out  at  all. 

Though  the  men  grumbled  about  the  state  of  the 
roads  and  the  season,  they  were  hilarious  and  well  con- 
tent, for  they  laughed  often,  and,  when  they  swore,  did 
80  good-humoredly,  and  promised  their  porters  fine 
presents  at  New- Year;  and  August,  like  a  shrew(i 
little  boy  as  he  was,  who  even  in  the  secluded  InnthaJ 
had  learned  that  money  is  the  chief  mover  of  men's 
mirth,  thought  to  himself,  with  a  terrible  paug, — 

"  They  have  sold  Hirschvogel  for  some  great  suna  ? 
Thej  have  sold  hire  already  !" 

Ther  his  hean  grew  faint  and  sick  within  him,  for 
he  knew  very  well  that  he  must  soon  die,  shut  up 
w^ithcut  food  and  water  thus ;  and  what  new  owner  of 


X18  THE  NURNBERG  STOVE. 

the  great  fire-palace  would  ever  permit  him  tc  dwell 
init? 

"Never  mind;  I  vnU  die,"  thought  he;  "and  Hirsch- 
vogel  will  know  it." 

Perhaps  you  think  him  a  very  foolish  little  fellow; 
but  I  do  not. 

It  is  always  good  to  be  loyal  and  ready  to  endure  to 
the  end. 

It  is  but  an  hour  and  a  quarter  that  the  train  usually 
takew  to  pass  from  Munich  to  the  Wurm-See  or  Lake 
of  Starnberg ;  but  this  morning  the  journey  was  much 
slower,  because  the  way  was  encumbered  by  snow. 
When  it  did  reach  Possenhofen  and  stop,  and  the 
Niirnberg  stove  was  lifted  out  once  more,  August 
could  see  through  the  fret-work  of  the  brass  door,  as 
the  stove  stood  upright  facing  the  lake,  that  this 
Wurm-See  was  a  calm  and  noble  piece  of  water,  of 
great  width,  with  low  wooded  banks  and  distant  moun- 
tains, a  peaceful,  serene  place,  full  of  rest. 

It  was  now  near  ten  o'clock.  The  sun  had  come 
forth ;  there  was  a  clear  gray  sky  hereabouts ;  the  snow 
was  not  falling,  though  it  lay  white  and  smooth  every- 
where, down  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  which  before 
long  would  itself  be  ice. 

Before  he  had  time  to  get  more  than  a  glimpse  of 
the  green  gliding  surface,  the  stove  was  again  lifted 
up  and  placed  on  a  large  boat  that  was  in  waiting, — 
cne  of  those  very  long  and  huge  boats  which  the 
women  in  tb<33e  parts  use  as  laundries,  and  the  men  as 
timber-rafts.  The  stove,  with  much  labor  and  muJa 
expenditure  of  time  and  care,  was  hoisted  into  this, 
and  August  would  have  grown  sick  and  giddy  with 


THE  NtlRNBERO  STOVE.  119 

the  heaving  and  falling  if  his  big  brothers  had  not 
long  used  him  to  such  tossing  about,  so  that  he  was  as 
much  at  ease  head,  as  feet,  downward.  The  stove 
once  in  it  safely  with  its  guardians,  the  big  boat  moved 
across  the  lake  to  Leoni.  How  a  little  hamlet  on  a 
Bavarian  lake  got  that  Tuscan-sounding  name  I  can- 
not tell ;  but  Leoni  it  is.  The  big  boat  was  a  long 
time  crossing :  the  lake  here  is  about  three  miles  broad, 
and  these  heavy  barges  are  unwieldy  and  heavy  to 
move,  even  though  they  are  towed  and  tugged  at  from 
the  shore. 

''  If  we  should  be  too  late !"  the  two  dealers  mut- 
tered to  each  other,  in  agitation  and  alarm.  "  He  said 
eleven  o'clock." 

"  "Who  was  he  ?"  thought  August ;  "  the  buyer,  of 
nourse,  of  Hirschvogel."  The  slow  passage  across  the 
Wurm-See  was  accomplished  at  length :  the  lake  wax 
placid ;  there  was  a  sweet  calm  in  the  air  and  on  the 
water;  there  was  a  great  deal  of  snow  in  the  sky, 
though  the  sun  was  shining  and  gave  a  solemn  hush 
to  the  atmosphere.  Boats  and  one  little  steamer  were 
going  up  and  down ;  in  the  clear  frosty  light  the  dis- 
tant mountains  of  Zillerthal  and  the  Algau  Alps  were 
visible;  market-people,  cloaked  and  furred,  went  by  on 
the  water  or  on  the  banks ;  the  deep  woods  of  the 
ghores  were  black  and  gray  and  brown.  Poor  August 
could  see  nothing  of  a  scene  that  would  have  delighted 
him;  as  the  stove  was  now  set,  he  could  only  see  th^ 
old  worm  *>aten  wood  of  the  huge  barge. 

Presenny  they  touched  the  pier  at  Leoni. 

"Now  men,  for  a  stout  mile  and  half!  You  shall 
driiif  your  reward  at  Christmas-time,"  said  one  of  the 


120  THE  NURNBERa  STOVE. 

dealers  to  his  porters,  who,  stout,  strong  men  as  they 
were,  showed  a  disposition  to  grumble  at  their  tafek, 
Enoouraged  by  large  promises,  they  shouldered  sullenly 
tlie  Niirnberg  stove,  grumbling  again  at  its  preposterous 
weight,  but  little  dreaming  that  they  carried  within  it  a 
amall,  panting,  trembling  boy;  for  August  began  to 
tremble  now  that  he  was  about  to  see  the  future  owner 
of  Hu'schvogel. 

"If  he  look  a  good,  kind  man,"  he  thought,  "I  will 
beg  him  to  let  me  stay  with  it." 

The  porters  began  their  toilsome  journey,  and  moved 
off  from  the  village  pier.  He  could  see  nothing,  for 
the  brass  door  was  over  his  head,  and  all  that  gleamed 
through  it  was  the  clear  gray  sky.  He  had  been  tilted 
on  to  his  back,  and  if  he  had  not  been  a  little  moun- 
taineer, used  to  hanging  head-downwards  over  crevasses, 
and,  moreover,  seasoned  to  rough  treatment  by  the 
hunters  and  guides  of  the  hills  and  the  salt-workers  in 
the  town,  he  would  have  been  made  ill  and  sick  by  the 
bruising  and  shaking  and  many  changes  of  position  to 
which  he  had  been  subjected. 

The  way  the  men  took  was  a  mile  and  a  half  in 
length,  but  the  road  was  heavy  with  snow,  and  the 
burden  they  bore  was  heavier  still.  The  dealers 
cheered  them  on,  swore  at  them  and  praised  them  in 
one  breath ;  besought  them  and  reiterated  their  splen- 
did promises,  for  a  clock  was  striking  eleven,  and  thev 
had  been  ordered  to  reach  their  destination  at  that 
hour,  and,  though  the  air  was  so  cold,  the  heat-drops 
rolled  off  their  foreheads  as  they  walked,  they  were  so 
frightened  at  being  late.  But  the  porters  would  not 
budge  a  foot  quicker  than  they  chose,  and  as  they  were 


THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE.  121 

not  poor  four-footed  carriers  their  employers  dared 
not  thrash  them,  though  most  willingly  would  they 
have  done  so. 

The  road  seemed  terribly  long  to  the  anxious  trades- 
men, to  the  plodding  porters,  to  the  poor  little  man  in- 
side the  stove,  as  he  kept  sinking  and  rising,  sinking 
and  rising,  with  each  of  their  steps. 

Where  they  were  going  he  had  no  idea,  only  after 
a  very  long  time  he  lost  the  sense  of  the  fresh  icy  wind 
blowing  on  his  face  through  the  brass-work  above,  and 
felt  by  their  movements  beneath  him  that  they  were 
mounting  steps  or  stairs.  Then  he  heai'd  a  great  many 
different  voices,  but  he  could  not  understand  what  waa 
being  said.  He  felt  that  his  bearers  paused  some  time, 
then  moved  on  and  on  again.  Their  feet  went  so  softly 
he  thought  they  must  be  moving  on  carpet,  and  as  he 
felt  a  warm  air  come  to  him  he  concluded  that  he  was 
in  some  heated  chambers,  for  he  was  a  clever  Kttle  fel- 
low, and  could  put  two  and  two  together,  though  he 
was  so  hungry  and  so  thirsty  and  his  emj)ty  stomach 
felt  so  strangely.  They  must  have  gone,  he  thought, 
through  some  very  great  number  of  rooms,  for  they 
walked  so  long  on  and  on,  on  and  on.  At  last  the 
stove  was  set  down  again,  and,  happily  for  him,  set  so 
that  his  feet  were  downward. 

What  he  fancied  was  that  he  was  in  some  museum, 
like  that  which  he  had  seen  in  the  city  of  Innspruck. 

The  voices  he  heard  were  very  hushed,  and  the  steps 
geemet.  to  go  away,  far  away,  leaving  him  alone  with 
Hirschvogel.  He  dared  not  look  out,  but  he  peeped 
through  the  bra^w^work,  and  all  he  could  see  was  a  big 
carved  lion's  hfe«/  in  ivory,  with  a  gold  crown  atop.   It 


J.22  THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE. 

belonged  to  a  velvet  fauteuil,  but  he  could  not  see  the 
chair,  only  the  ivory  lion. 

There  was  a  delicious  fragrance  in  the  air, — a  fra- 
grance as  of  flowers.  "  Only  how  can  it  be  flowers  ?" 
thought  August.     "  It  is  November  !" 

From  afar  off,  as  it  seemed,  there  came  a  dreamy, 
exquisite  music,  as  sweet  as  the  spinnet's  had  been,  but 
so  much  fuller,  so  much  richer,  seeming  as  though  a 
chorus  of  angels  were  singing  all  together.  August 
ceased  to  think  of  the  museum :  he  thought  of  heaven. 
"Are  we  gone  to  the  Master?"  he  thought,  remembering 
the  words  of  Hirschvogel. 

All  was  so  still  around  him;  there  was  no  sound 
anywhere  except  the  sound  of  the  far-off  choral  music. 

He  did  not  know  it,  but  he  was  in  the  royal  castle 
of  Berg,  and  the  music  he  heard  was  the  music  of 
Wagner,  who  was  playing  in  a  distant  room  some  of 
the  motives  of  "Parsival." 

Presently  he  heard  a  fresh  step  near  him,  and  he 
heard  a  low  voice  say,  close  behind  him,  "  So !"  An 
exclamation  no  doubt,  he  thought,  of  admiration  and 
wonder  at  the  beauty  of  Hirschvogel. 

Then  the  same  voice  said,  after  a  long  pause,  during 
which  no  doubt,  as  August  thought,  this  new-comer 
was  examining  all  the  details  of  the  wondrous  fire- 
tower,  "  It  was  well  bought ;  it  is  exceedingly  beauti- 
ful 1  It  is  most  undoubtedly  the  work  of  Augustin 
Hirsch^'ogel." 

Then  the  hand  of  the  speaker  turned  the  round 
handle  of  the  brass  door,  and  the  fainting  soul  of  the 
poor  LIt^ie  prisoner  within  grew  sick  with  fear. 

The  handle  turned,  the  door  was  slowly  drawn  opeiu 


THE  NijRNBERG  STOVE.  123 

some  one  bent  down  and  looked  in,  and  the  same  voice 
that  he  had  heard  in  praise  of  its  beauty  called  aloud, 
in  surprise,  "  What  is  this  in  it  ?     A  live  child  !" 

Then  August,  terrified  beyond  all  self-control,  and 
dominated  by  one  master-passion,  sprang  out  of  the 
body  of  the  stove  and  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  speaker. 

"  Oh,  let  me  stay  I  Pray,  meinherr,  let  me  stay  I" 
he  sobbed.  "  I  have  come  all  the  way  with  Hirsch- 
vogel !" 

Some  gentlemen's  hands  seized  him,  not  gently  by 
any  means,  and  their  lips  angrily  muttered  in  his  ear, 
"  Little  knave,  peace !  be  quiet  1  hold  your  tongue  t 
[t  is  the  king !" 

They  were  about  to  drag  him  out  of  the  august  at- 
mosphere as  if  he  had  been  some  venomous,  dangerous 
beast  come  there  to  slay,  but  the  voice  he  had  heard 
speak  of  the  stove  said,  in  kind  accents,  "  Poor  little 
child  I  he  is  very  young.  Let  him  go :  let  him  speak 
to  me." 

The  word  of  a  king  is  law  to  his  courtiers :  so,  sorely 
against  their  wish,  the  angry  and  astonished  chamber- 
lains let  August  slide  out  of  their  grasp,  and  lie 
stood  there  in  his  little  rough  sheepskin  coat  and  his 
thick,  mud-covered  boots,  with  his  curling  hair  all  in 
a  tangle,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  beautiful  chamber  he 
had  ever  dreamed  of,  and  in  the  presence  of  a  young 
man  with  a  beautiful  dark  face,  and  eyes  full  of  dreams 
and  fire  ;  and  the  young  man  said  to  him, — 

"  My  child,  how  came  you  here,  hidden  in  this 
stove  ^  Be  not  afraid :  tell  me  the  truth.  I  am  the 
king. ' 

A.uguat  m   an   instinct  of   homage   cast  his  great 


X24  THE  NVRNBERG  STOVE. 

battered  black  hat  with  the  tarnished  gold  tassels  down 
on  the  floor  of  the  room,  and  folded  his  little  brown 
hands  in  sujjplication.  He  was  too  intensely  in  earnest 
to  be  in  any  way  abashed;  he  was  too  lifted  out  cf 
himself  by  his  love  for  Hirschvogel  to  be  conscious  of 
any  awe  before  any  earthly  majesty.  He  was  only  so 
glad — so  glad  it  was  the  king.  Kings  were  always 
kind ;  so  the  Tyrolese  think,  who  love  their  lords. 

"  Oh,  dear  king !"  he  said,  with  trembling  entreaty 
in  his  faint  little  voice,  "  Hirschvogel  was  ours,  and  we 
have  loved  it  all  our  lives ;  and  father  sold  it.  And 
when  I  saw  that  it  did  really  go  from  us,  then  I  said 
to  myself  I  would  go  with  it ;  and  I  have  come  all  the 
way  inside  it.  And  last  night  it  spoke  and  said  beauti- 
ful things.  And  I  do  pray  you  to  let  me  live  with  it, 
and  I  will  go  out  every  morning  and  cut  wood  for  it 
and  you,  if  only  you  will  let  me  stay  beside  it.  No 
one  ever  has  fed  it  with  fuel  but  me  since  I  grew  big 
enough,  and  it  loves  me ; — it  does  indeed ;  it  said  so 
last  night ;  and  it  said  that  it  had  been  happier  with  us 
than  if  it  were  in  any  palace " 

And  then  his  breath  failed  him,  and,  as  he  lifted  hia 
little,  eager,  pale  face  to  the  young  king's,  great  teal's 
were  falling  down  his  cheeks. 

Now,  the  king  likes  all  poetic  and  uncommon  things, 
and  there  was  that  in  the  child's  face  which  pleased  and 
touclied  him.  He  motioned  to  his  gentlemen  to  leave 
the  little  boy  alone. 

"  Whai  18  your  name  ?"  he  asked  him. 
*  1  am  August  Strehla.     My  father  is  Hans  Strehla 
We  live  in  Hall  in  the  Innthal;  and  Hirschvogel  has 
been  curs  sc  long, — so  long !" 


THE  NVRNBERQ   STOVE.  125 

His  lips  quivered  with  a  broken  sob. 

"And  have  you  truly  travelled  inside  tliis  stove  all 
the  way  from  Tyrol  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  August ;  "  no  one  thought  to  look  inside 
till  you  did. 

The  king  laughed ;  then  another  view  of  the  matter 
occurred  to  him. 

"Who  bought  the  stove  of  your  father?"  he  In- 
quired. 

"  Traders  of  Munich,"  said  August,  who  did  not  know 
that  he  ought  not  to  have  spoken  to  the  king  as  to  a 
simple  citizen,  and  whose  little  brain  was  whirling  and 
spinning  dizzily  round  its  one  central  idea. 

"  What  sum  did  they  pay  your  father,  do  you  know  ?" 
asked  the  sovereign. 

"  Two  hundred  florins,"  said  August,  with  a  great 
sigh  of  shame.  "  It  was  so  much  money,  and  he  is  so 
poor,  and  there  are  so  many  of  us." 

The  king  turned  to  his  gentlemen-in-waiting.  "  Did 
these  dealers  of  Munich  come  with  the  stove." 

He  was  answered  in  the  affirmative.  He  desired 
them  to  be  sought  for  and  brought  before  him.  As  one 
of  his  chamberlains  hastened  on  the  errand,  the  monarch 
looked  at  August  with  compassion. 

"  You  are  very  pale,  little  fellow  :  when  did  you  eat 
labt?" 

"  I  had  some  bread  and  sausage  with  me ;  yesterday 
afternoon  I  finished  it." 

*  You  would  like  to  eat  now  ?" 

"  If  I  might  have  a  little  water  I  would  be  glad ; 
fSij  throat  ia  very  dry." 

T»i«!  k'ng  had  water  and  wine  brought  for  him,  and 


126  THE  NURNBERO   STOVE. 

cake  also ;  but  August^  though  he  drank  eagerly,  could 
not  Hwallow  anything.  His  mind  was  in  too  great  a 
tumult. 

"  May  I  stay  with  Hirschvogel  ? — may  I  stay  ?"  he 
said,  with  feverish  agitation. 

"  Wait  a  little,"  said  the  king,  and  asked,  abruptly, 
"  What  do  you  wish  to  be  when  you  are  a  man  ?" 

"A  painter.  I  wish  to  be  what  Hirschvogel  was, — 
r  mean  the  master  that  made  my  Hirschvogel." 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  king. 

Then  the  two  dealers  were  brought  into  their  sover- 
eign's presence.  They  were  so  terribly  alarmed,  not 
being  either  so  innocent  or  so  ignorant  as  August  was, 
that  they  were  trembling  as  though  they  were  being  led 
to  the  slaughter,  and  they  were  so  utterly  astonished 
too  at  a  child  having  come  all  the  way  from  Tyrol  in 
the  stove,  as  a  gentleman  of  the  court  had  just  told 
them  this  child  had  done,  that  they  could  not  tell  what 
to  say  or  where  to  look,  and  presented  a  very  foolish 
aspect  indeed. 

"Did  you  buy  this  Niirnberg  stove  of  this  little 
boy's  father  for  two  hundred  florins?"  the  king  asked 
them ;  and  his  voice  was  no  longer  soft  and  kind  as  it 
had  been  when  addressing  the  child,  but  very  stern. 

"Yes,  your  majesty,"  murmural  the  trembling 
traders. 

"  And  how  much  did  the  gentleman  who  purchased 
it  for  me  give  to  you  ?" 

"  Two  thousand  ducats,  your  majesty,"  muttered  the 
dealers^  frightened  out  of  their  wits,  and  telling  the 
truth  in  their  fright. 

The  g^'LJeman  was  not  present:  he  was  a  trusted 


THE  NiJRNBERQ  STOVE.  127 

oouiisellor  in  art  matters  of  the  king's,  and  often  made 
purchases  for  him. 

The  king  smiled  a  little,  and  said  nothing.  The 
gentleman  had  made  out  the  price  to  him  as  eleven 
thousand  ducats. 

"  You  will  give  at  once  to  this  boy's  father  the  two 
thousand  gold  ducats  that  you  received,  less  the  two 
hundred  Austrian  florins  that  you  paid  him,"  said  the 
king  to  his  humiliated  and  abject  subjects.  "You  are 
great  rogues.  Be  thankful  you  are  not  more  greatly 
punished." 

He  dismissed  them  by  a  sign  to  his  courtiers,  and  to 
one  of  these  gave  the  mission  of  making  the  dealers 
of  the  Marienplatz  disgorge  their  ill-gotten  gains. 

August  heard,  anu  x'elt  dazzled  yet  miserable.  Two 
thousand  gold  Bavarian  ducats  for  his  father  1  Why, 
his  father  would  never  need  to  go  any  more  to  the  salt- 
baking  1  And  yet,  whether  for  ducats  or  for  florins, 
Hirschvogel  was  sold  just  the  same,  and  would  the 
king  let  him  stay  with  it  ? — would  he  ? 

"  Oh,  do  !  oh,  please  do  !"  he  murmured,  joining  his 
little  brown  weather-stained  hands,  and  kneeling  down 
before  the  young  monarch,  who  himself  stood  absorbed 
in  painful  thought,  for  the  deception  so  basely  practised 
for  the  greedy  sake  of  gain  on  him  by  a  trusted  coun- 
gellor  was  bitter  to  him. 

He  looked  down  on  the  child,  and  as  he  did  so 
smiled  once  more. 

"  Rise  up,  my  little  man,"  he  said,  in  a  kind  voice ; 
"  kneel  only  to  your  God.  Will  I  let  you  stay  with 
your  Hirschvogel  ?  Yes,  I  will ;  you  shall  stay  at  my 
oourt,  and  you  shall  be  taught  to  be  a  painter, — in  oila 


128  THE  NURNBERQ  STOVE. 

or  on  porcelain  as  you  will, — and  you  must  grow  up 
worthily,  and  win  all  the  laurels  at  our  Schools  of  Art, 
and  if  when  you  are  twenty-one  years  old  you  have 
done  well  and  bravely,  then  I  will  give  you  your 
Niirnberg  stove,  or,  if  I  am  no  more  living,  then  those 
who  reign  after  me  shall  do  so.  And  now  go  away 
with  this  gentleman,  and  be  not  afraid,  and  you  shall 
light  a  fire  every  morning  in  Hirschvogel,  but  you  will 
not  need  to  go  out  and  cut  the  wood." 

Then  he  smiled  and  stretched  out  his  hand ;  the 
courtiers  tried  to  make  August  understand  that  he 
ought  to  bow  and  touch  it  with  his  lips,  but  August 
oould  not  understand  that  anyhow ;  he  was  too  happy. 
He  threw  his  two  arms  about  the  king's  knees,  and 
kissed  his  feet  passionately ;  then  he  lost  all  sense  of 
where  he  was,  and  fainted  away  from  hunger,  and  tire, 
and  emotion,  and  wondrous  joy. 

As  the  darkness  of  his  swoon  closed  in  on  him, 
he  heard  in  his  fancy  the  voice  from  Hirschvogel 
saying,— 

"  Let  us  be  worthy  our  maker !" 

He  is  only  a  scholar  yet,  but  he  is  a  happy  scholar, 
and  promises  to  be  a  great  man.  Sometimes  he  goes 
back  for  a  few  days  to  Hall,  where  the  ^old  ducats 
have  made  his  father  prosperous.  In  the  old  house- 
room  there  is  a  large  white  porcelain  stove  of  Munich, 
the  king's  gift  to  Dorothea  and  'Gilda. 

And  August  never  goe?  home  without  going  into 
the  great  church  and  saying  his  thanks  to  God,  who 
blessed  his  strange  winter's  journey  in  the  Nurnberg 
stove.  As  for  his  dream  in  the  dealers'  room  that 
aigbt,  he  will  nevei  admit  that  he  did  dream  it ;  he 


THE  NURNBERG  STOVE.  129 

still  declares  that  he  saw  it  all,  and  heard  the  voice  of 
Hirschvogel.  And  who  shall  say  that  he  did  not?  for 
what  is  the  gift  of  the  poet  and  the  artist  except  to  see 
irhe  sights  which  others  cannot  see  and  to  hear  the  sounds 
that  others  cannot  hear  ? 


IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY 


IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY 


It  was  in  one  of  the  green  lanes  of  South  Devonshire 
that  Gemma,  being  quite  tired  out,  threw  herself  down 
on  the  daisied  grass  and  said  to  her  grandfather, — 

"  Nonno,  let  us  rest  a  little  and  eat."  Her  grand- 
father said  to  her, — 

"  Carina  mia,  I  would  eat  gladlj,  but  we  have 
nothing  to  eat.     The  satchel  is  empty." 

Gemma,  lying  chest  downward  on  the  turf,  sighed, 
and  buried  her  hands  in  her  abundant  curls  and  cooled 
her  forehead  on  tlie  damp  grass.  She  was  just  thirteen 
years  old,  and  she  was  so  pretty  that  she  made  the  heart 
of  the  old  grandfather  ache  often  when  he  looked  at 
her  and  thought  that  she  would  most  likely  soon  be 
left  alone  in  the  world,  for  her  little  brother  Bindo 
could  not  be  said  to  count  for  anything,  being  only  ten 
years  old.  Gemma  was  very  lovely  indeed,  being  tall 
and  lithe  and  gay,  and  full  of  grace,  and  having  a  beau- 
tiful changeable  face,  all  light  and  color.  But  she  was 
only  thirteen,  and  all  she  could  do  to  get  her  livelihood 
was  to  dance  the  saUarello  and  the  tarantella.  She  and 
her  brother  danced,  which  they  did  very  prettily,  and 
the  old  man  wh^m  they  called  Nonno  told  fortunes 
and  performed  some  simple  conjuring  tricks,  and  these 
were  al   bad  trades  as  times  went,  for  nowadays  nobody 

133 


134  IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRF. 

amuses  himself  with  simple  things,  and  the  rural  folk 
liave  grown  as  sharp  and  as  serious  as  the  city  people, 
which  to  my  thinking  is  a  very  great  loss  to  the  world, 
for  merry  people  are  generally  kind  people,  and  con- 
tented people  are  easily  governed,  and  have  no  appe- 
tites for  politics  and  philosophies  and  the  like  indiges- 
tible things. 

Nonno  and  Gemma  and  Bindo  were  merry  enough 
even  on  empty  stomachs.  The  old  man  was  as  simple 
as  a  duck,  and  as  gentle  as  a  rabbit,  and  was  rather 
more  of  a  child  than  either  of  the  children.  Bindo 
was  a  little,  round,  playful,  gleeful  thing,  like  a  little 
field-mouse,  and  Gemma  was  as  gay  as  a  lark,  though 
she  had  to  bear  the  burden  of  the  only  brains  that  there 
were  in  the  family. 

They  were  little  Neapolitans ;  they  had  been  born  in 
a  little  cabin  on  the  sunny  shore  facing  Ischia,  and  in 
their  infancy  had  tumbled  about  naked  and  glad  as 
young  dolphins  in  the  bright  blue  waters.  Then  their 
parents  had  died, — their  father  at  sea,  their  mother  of 
fever, — and  left  them  to  the  care  of  Nonno ;  Nonno, 
who  was  very  old,  so  old  that  they  thought  he  must 
have  been  made  almost  before  the  world  itself,  and  who, 
after  having  been  a  showman  of  puppets  to  divert  the 
poorest  classes  all  his  life,  was  so  very  poor  himself  then 
that  he  could  hardly  scrape  enough  together  to  get  a 
little  drink  of  thin  wine  and  an  inch  or  two  of  polenta. 
Being  so  very  poor,  he  was  seduced  into  accepting  an  en- 
gagement for  himself  and  the  children  with  a  wicked  man 
whose  business  it  was  in  life  to  decoy  poor  little  Italians 
and  make  money  out  of  them  in  foreign  lands.  Nonno 
was  so  good  and  simple  himself  that  he  thought  every* 


IN  THE  APPLECOUNTRr.  135 

body  was  as  harmless  as  he  was,  and  his  grief  and 
amazement  were  very  great  when  on  reaching  the 
English  shores  with  this  wicked  man  he  found  that 
the  wicked  man  meant  to  give  him  the  slip  altogether 
and  go  off  with  the  two  children.  By  a  mere  hazard, 
Nonno,  whose  name  was  Epifania  Santo  (a  droll  name, 
but  he  himself  had  been  a  foundling),  was  able  to 
defeat  the  wicked  man  so  far  that  he  got  out  of  his 
clutches  and  took  his  grandchildren  with  hira.  But 
there  they  all  three  were  in  England,  with  no  money 
at  all,  and  nothing  on  earth  but  a  few  puppets,  and  a 
conjurer's  box  of  playthings,  and  the  stilts  on  which 
the  wicked  man  had  had  the  children  taught  to  walk. 
And  in  England  they  had  now  been  four  years,  re- 
maining there  chiefly  because  they  had  no  notion  how 
to  get  home  again,  and  partly  because  Nonno  had  such 
a  great  terror  of  the  sea.  He  had  suffered  so  much  on 
the  long  voyage  into  which  he  had  been  entrapped  from 
Naples,  round  by  the  Bay  of  Biscay  up  the  Bristol 
Channel,  that  he  would  sooner  have  died  there  and 
then  than  have  set  loot  again  on  board  a  sea-going 
vessel.  So  in  England  they  had  stayed,  wandering 
about  and  picking  up  a  few  pence  in  villages  and  towns, 
and  clinging  together  tenderly,  and  being  very  often 
hungry,  cold,  tired,  roofless,  but  yet  being  all  the  while 
happy. 

Sometimes,  too,  they  fared  well :  the  children's  bril- 
liant uncommon  beauty  and  pretty  foreign  accent  often 
touched  country-people's  hearts,  and  sometimes  they 
would  get  bed  and  board  at  homely  farm-houses  high 
on  lonely  hills,  or  be  made  welcome  without  payment 
In  I'ttle  wayside  inns.     They  had  kept  to  the  sout£i> 


136  IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY. 

west  part  of  the  kingdom,  never  being  able  to  afford 
other  means  of  locomotion  than  their  own  feet,  and  the 
farthest  distance  they  had  ever  compassed  had  been 
this  far-south  country-side,  where  the  green  woods  and 
pastures  roll  down  to  the  broad  estuaries  of  Exe  and 
Dart.  This  green,  wet,  shadowy  country  always  seemed 
strange  to  the  children  ;  for  a  long  while  they  thought 
it  was  always  evening  in  England.  They  could  re- 
member the  long  sunshiny  years  at  home,  and  the  ra- 
diant air,  and  the  blue,  clear  sky,  and  the  sea  that 
seemed  always  laughing.  They  could  never  forget  it 
indeed,  and  when  they  were  together  they  never  talked 
of  anything  else :  only  the  cactus-fruit  and  the  green 
and  black  figs,  the  red  tomatoes  and  the  rough  pome- 
granates, and  the  big  balls  of  gold  to  be  had  in  the 
orange  woods  just  for  the  plucking ;  the  boats  with  the 
pretty  striped  sails,  and  the  villas  with  the  marbles  and 
the  palms,  and  the  islands  all  aglow  in  the  sunset,  and 
the  distance  you  could  see  looking  away,  away,  away 
into  the  immeasurable  azure  of  the  air.  Oh,  yes,  they 
remembered  it  all,  and  at  night  they  would  weep  for  it, 
the  old  man's  slow  salt  tears  mingling  with  the  pas- 
sionate rain  of  the  childish  eyes.  Here  it  was  green 
and  pretty  in  its  own  way,  but  all  so  dark,  so  wet,  so 
misty  I 

"  When  I  try  to  see,  there  is  a  white  wall  of  shadow, 
— I  think  it  is  shadow ;  perhaps  it  is  fog,  but  it  is 
always  there,"  said  Gemma.  "  At  home  one  looks,  and 
looks,  and  .  fioks  ;  there  is  no  end  to  it." 

Gemma  longed  sorely  to  go  home;  she  had  not 
minded  the  sea  at  all.  Bindo,  like  Nonno,  had  been 
wery  ill  on  the  voyage  and  cried  even  now  whenever 


IN  THE  APPLE-COVNTRV.  137 

he  saw  a  ship,  for  fear  he  should  be  going  iu  it.  Bindo 
was  sadly  babyish  for  ten  years  old ;  to  make  amends, 
his  sister  was  almost  a  woman  at  thirteen. 

They  ought  now  to  have  been  all  three  serious  and 
alarmed,  for  Nonno's  satchel  had  not  a  penny  in  it, 
nor  a  crust,  and  they  were  all  hungry,  for  it  was  noon- 
day. But  instead  of  being  miserable  they  joked,  and 
laughed,  and  kissed  each  other,  as  thousands  of  their 
country-folks  at  home  with  equally  empty  stomachs 
were  doing,  lying  on  sunny  moles,  or  marble-strewn 
benches,  or  thymy  turf  under  ilex  shadows.  But  then 
ji  our  dear  Italy  there  is  always  the  sun,  the  light,  the 
iir  that  kisses  and  feeds  and  sends  to  soft  sleep  her 
children,  and  Gemma  and  her  brother  and  grandfather 
were  in  a  wet  English  lane,  with  the  clouds  hurrying 
up  over  the  distant  hills  by  Dartmoor,  and  the  rain- 
drops still  hanging  to  the  great  elm-boughs  overhead. 

Yet  they  were  merry,  and  sang  snatches  of  Neapoli- 
tan songs,  and  took  no  thought  for  the  morrow.  They 
were  not  far  off  Dartmouth,  and  they  meant  to  go  into 
the  quaint  old  town  by  market-day,  and  the  Dart  fisher- 
and  boating-folk  were  always  kind  to  them.  If  they 
were  hungry  now  they  would  eat  to-morrow. 

Suddenly,  however,  Nonno  grew  thoughtful  as  he 
looked  at  Gemma,  lying  face  downward  on  the  wet 
grass,  her  sandalled  feet  in  air,  a  dragon-fly  fluttering 
above  her  head. 

"What  would  you  do  if  I  were  to  die,  my  p,cct- 
oo^  f  said  the  poor  old  man,  all  at  once  remembering 
he  waa  nigh  eighty  years  old.  Gemma  raised  herself, 
and  said  nothing.  Her  eyes,  which  were  very  beauti- 
ful eyes,  grew  sad  and  moist 


138  I^   THE  APPLE-COUNTRr. 

"  I  would  take  care  of  Bindo,  Nonno,"  she  answered, 
at  last.     "  Do  not  be  afraid  of  that." 

"  But  how  ?     It  is  easy  to  say.     But  how  ?" 

"  I  suppose  I  could  dance  at  theatres,"  said  Gemma 
after  reflection.     Nonno  shook  his  head. 

"  For  the  theatres  you  would  need  to  dance  differ- 
ently: it  is  all  spinning,  craning,  drilling  there;  you 
dance,  my  child,  as  a  flower  in  the  wind.  The  theatre? 
do  not  care  for  that." 

"  Then  I  do  not  know,"  said  Gemma.  "  But  some- 
thing I  would  do.     Bindo  should  not  suffer." 

"  You  are  a  good  child,"  said  the  old  man,  tenderly. 
She  sank  down  again  on  the  grass. 

"  Do  not  think  of  dying,  Nonno,"  she  said.  "  It  i» 
all  so  dark  where  death  is." 

"  Not  when  one  gets  to  the  saints,"  said  the  simple 
old  man.  He  always  fancied  Paradise  just  like  Amalfi, 
— his  own  Amalfi,  where  long  ago,  so  long  ago,  he  had 
run  and  leaped,  a  merry  naked  boy,  in  the  azure  waves, 
and  caught  the  glittering  sea-mouse  and  the  pink  column 
of  the  gemmia  in  his  hands.  Paradise  would  be  jusl 
like  Amalfi ;  the  promise  of  it  consoled  him  as  he 
trotted  on  tired  limbs  along  the  wet  gravel  of  English 
market-roads,  or  meekly  bore  the  noisy  horse-play  of 
English  village  crowds. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  sun  was  shining  a  little 
in  a  drowsy  half-hearted  way,  as  if  it  were  but  half 
awake  even  at  mid-day.  Tnere  were  big  hedges  on 
either  side  of  the  lane,  and  broad  strips  of  turf.  These 
lanes  are  almost  all  that  is  left  oi  the  rural  and  leafy 
old  England  of  Seventeen  Hundred ;  and  they  are 
heautifu    in  th^ir  own  way  when  midsummer  crowdfl 


IN  THE   APPLE-COVNTRY.  139 

them  with  flowers,  and  in  spring  when  their  palm-wil- 
lows blossom,  and  in  autumn  when  their  hazel-coppicea 
are  brown  with  nuts,  and  in  winter  when  their  holly 
and  ivy  clamber  high,  and  their  fine  trees  make  a 
tracery  of  bare  boughs  delicate  as  the  net-work  of  lace 
against  the  gray  skies. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  to  their  right,  there 
was  a  large  corn-field ;  it  was  now  the  time  when  wheat 
is  ripe  in  England,  and  the  men  and  women  who  were 
reaping  it  were  sitting,  resting,  drinking  their  cider  and 
eating  their  noonday  bread  and  bacon.  Bindo  watched 
them  through  a  hole  in  the  hedge,  and  began  to  cry. 

"  It  makes  me  hungrier  to  see  them  eat !"  he  said, 
with  a  sob.     Gemma  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Do  not  cry  so,  my  Bindo,"  she  said,  with  a  tender 
voice :  "  I  will  ask  them  to  give  you  some." 

She  thrust  her  lithe  body  through  the  gap,  and 
walked  boldly  across  the  field, — a  strange  figure  for  an 
English  corn-field,  with  her  short  white  skirt,  and  her 
red  bodice,  and  her  striped  sash  of  many  colors,  and  her 
little  coral  ear-rings  in  her  ears ;  she  was  bareheaded, 
and  her  dusky  gold  hair,  the  hair  that  the  old  painters 
loved,  was  coiled  rope-like  all  around  her  small  head. 

"  My  little  brother  is  hungry :  will  you  be  so  very 
gentle  and  give  us  a  little  bread?"  she  said,  in  her 
pretty  accent,  which  robbed  the  English  tongue  of  all 
its  gutturals  and  clothed  it  in  a  sweetness  not  its  own. 
She  was  not  fond  of  begging,  being  proud,  and  she 
colored  very  much  as  she  said  it. 

The  f-^-apen  stared,  then  grinned,  gaped  once  or  twice, 
and  then  stretched  big  brown  hands  out  to  her  with 
goodly  portions  of  food,  and  one  added  a  mug  of  cider. 


X40  I^  I'SE  APPLE-COUNTRF. 

"  I  do  thank  you  so  much,"  she  said,  with  a  smile 
that  was  like  a  sunbeam.  **  The  drink  I  take  not,  for 
Nonno  has  no  love  of  it;  but  for  the  bread  I  praj 
may  San  Martino  bless  you  !" 

Then  she  courtesied  to  them,  as  nature  and  nobody 
else  had  taught  her  to  do,  and  ran  awaj),  fleet  aa  a  lap- 
wing, with  her  treasure. 

"  'Tis  that  dancing-girl  of  the  Popish  country,"  said 
the  men  one  to  another,  and  added  that  if  the  master 
caught  her  in  his  lane  'twould  be  the  worse  for  her,  for 
he  couldna  abide  tramps  and  vagabon's.  But  Gemma, 
who  knew  nothing  of  that,  was  sharing  her  spoils  with 
glee,  and  breaking  the  small  bit  of  bread  she  allowed 
to  herself  with  teeth  as  white  as  a  dog's. 

"  The  way  to  Dartmouth  will  not  now  seem  so  long," 
she  said,  and  Bindo  nodded  his  head  with  a  mouth  quite 
full  of  good  brown  bread  and  fat  bacon. 

"  How  much  do  they  love  came  secca  here !"  said 
Nonno,  with  a  sigh,  thinking  of  the  long  coils  of  mac- 
roni,  the  lovely  little  fried  fish,  the  oil,  the  garlic,  ttie 
black  beans,  that  he  never  saw  now,  alas,  alas  I  "  The 
land  is  fat,  but  the  people  they  know  not  how  to  live," 
he  added,  with  a  sigh.  "A  people  without  wine, — 
what  should  they  know  ?" 

"They  make  good  bread,"  said  Gemma,  with  her 
ivory  teeth  in  a  crust. 

Meantime,  the  person  who  owned  the  lane  was 
coming  out  into  the  fields  to  see  how  his  men  got  on 
with  their  work.  His  house  stood  near,  hidden  in 
trees  on  a  bend  of  the  Exe.  He  was  rich,  young, 
prosperous,  and  handsome ;  he  was  also  generous  and 
charitafeie ;   but   he  was   a   magistrate,  and  he  hated 


IN  THE  APPLE-COVNTRi .  141 

Btrollers.  By  name  lie  was  known  as  Philip  Carey; 
his  people  had  been  squires  here  for  many  generations ; 
he  called  himself  a  yeoman,  and  was  as  proud  as  if  he 
were  a  prince. 

As  fates  would  have  it,  he  rode  down  the  lane  now 
on  his  gray  horse,  and  when  he  saw  the  group  of  Nonno 
and  Gemma  and  Bindo,  with  their  bags  and  bales  and 
bundles,  scattered  about  on  the  turf  of  his  lane,  hia 
gray  eyes  grew  ominously  dark. 

"Who  gave  you  leave  to  come  here?"  he  asked, 
sternly  enough,  as  he  reined  up  his  horse. 

Nonno  looked  up  smiling,  and  stood  up  and  bowed 
with  grace  and  ease.  The  English  tongue  he  had 
never  been  able  to  master:  he  glanced  at  Gemma  to 
bid  her  answer. 

"  We  were  only  resting,  Excellenza,"  said  she,  boldly. 
"  It  is  a  public  road." 

"  It  is  not  a  public  road,"  said  the  owner  of  it. 
"  And  if  it  were,  you  would  have  no  right  to  cumber 
it.     Are  you  strollers  ?" 

"  Strollers  ?"  repeated  Gemma :  she  did  not  under- 
stand the  word. 

"  Tramps  ?     Are  you  tramps  ?" 

"  We  are  artists,"  said  Gemma. 

*'  What  do  you  do  for  your  living  ?"  asked  her  judge. 

"  We  dance,"  she  answered,  "  and  Nonno  yonder  he 
does  conjuring  tricks,  and  sometimes  has  a  little  lotto, 
but  that  is  only  wheii  we  have  got  a  little  money :  we 
havB  none  now.'' 

"  A  lottf^ry !"  exclaimed  jMr.  Carey,  whose  face  grew 
very  ^tern.  "You  are  mere  idle  vagabonds,  then, 
when  you  are  not  worse.     Do  you  live  by  your  wits  f* 


J.42  iN  THE  APPLF. COUNTRY 

"  We  dance,"  said  Gemma,  again. 

"  Dance !     Can  you  read  and  write  ?" 

«  Oh,  no." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?" 

"I  am  thirteen,  Bindo  is  ten,  Nonno  is — is — is,  oh, 
as  old  as  the  world." 

"  Is  he  your  grandfather  ?" 

"  That  is  what  you  say  in  English.    We  say  Nonno." 

"  Cannot  he  speak  English  ?" 

"  No :  he  has  lost  his  teeth,  and  it  is  so  hard,  is  your 
English." 

"  You  are  an  impudent  girl." 

Gemma  smiled  her  beautiful  shining  smile,  as  if  he 
had  paid  her  an  admirable  compliment. 

She  knew  the  rider  by  sight  very  well,  though  he 
did  not  know  her.  His  housekeeper  had  whipped 
Bindo  for  getting  into  her  poultry-house  and  putting 
two  eggs  in  his  pocket,  and  his  gardener  one  day  had 
turned  them  both  out  of  his  orchards  as  trespassers,  so 
that  he  and  his  residence  of  Carey's  Honor  were  al- 
ready scored  with  black  in  the  tablets  of  the  children's 
memories. 

That  he  was  a  handsome  young  man,  with  a  grave 
and  pensive  face  and  a  very  sweet  smile,  when  he  did 
smile,  which  was  rarely,  did  not  affect  Gemma's  dislike 
to  him :  she  was  too  young  to  be  impressed  by  good 
looks.  Philip  Carey  was  not  touched  by  the  beauty 
of  her  either :  he  scarcely  saw  that  she  was  pretty,  he 
was  so  aiQ^ry  with  her  for  what  seemed  to  him  lier 
saucy  answers. 

"  Why  are  you  not  dressed  like  a  Christian  ?'*  he 
said,  somewhat  irrelevantly. 


/^    THE  APPLE-COUNTRT.  143 

"  I  am  a  Christian,"  said  Gemma,  angry  in  her  turn, 
— "  a  better  Christian  than  you  are.  And  what  is  my 
dress  to  you  ?     You  do  not  buy  it." 

"  It  is  immodest." 

"  Oh !  oh !"  cried  Gemma,  with  a  flame-like  light- 
ning in  her  eyes ;  and  like  lightning  she  leaped  up  on 
to  tlie  saddle  and  gave  the  astonished  gentleman  a 
sounding  box  on  both  ears. 

He  was  so  utterly  astonished  that  he  had  no  time 
to  protect  himself,  and  his  horse,  which  was  utterly 
astonished  too,  began  to  plunge  and  rear  and  kick,  and 
fully  occupied  him,  whilst  a  guffaw  from  the  field  be- 
yond added  to  his  rage  by  telling  him  that  his  reapers 
had  witnessed  his  discomfiture. 

Gemma  had  leaped  to  the  ground  as  swiftly  as  she 
had  leaped  to  the  saddle,  and,  whilst  the  horse  was 
rearing  and  plunging,  had  caught  up  their  bag  and 
baggage,  had  pushed  and  pulled  her  brother  and  her 
grandfather  before  her,  and  had  flown  down  the  lane 
and  out  of  sight  before  Philip  Carey  had  reduced  his 
steed  to  any  semblance  of  reason.  His  ears  tingled  and 
his  pride  was  bitterly  incensed,  yet  he  could  not  help 
laughing  at  himself. 

"  The  little  tigress !"  he  thought,  as  he  endeavored 
to  soothe  Ills  fretting  and  wheeling  beast,  which  was 
young  and  only  half  broken. 

When  he  rode  in  at  last  by  an  open  gate  among  hia 
reapers  the  men  were  all  too  afraid  of  him  not  to  wear 
very  grave  faces,  as  though  they  had  seen  nothing. 
Every  one  was  afraid  of  Philip  Carey  except  his  dogs, 
which  shows  that  he  had  a  good  heart  under  a  stem 
manner,  for  dugs  never  make  mistakes  as  men  do. 


X44  I^  THE  APPLE-COVNTRY. 

He  remained  about  his  fields  all  the  day,  and  went 
home  to  a  solitary  dinner.  He  had  no  living  relative. 
He  was  rather  more  of  a  scholar  than  a  farmer,  and 
liked  his  loneliness.  His  old  house,  which  was  called 
Carey's  Honor  ever  since  the  days  of  the  Tudors,  was 
a  rambling  comfortable  building,  set  amidst  green  lawn, 
huge  hew-  and  oak-trees,  and  meadows  that  stretched 
downward  to  the  broad  Dart  water.  It  was  all  within 
and  without  as  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  the  Armada, 
and  the  ivy  that  covered  it  was  as  old  as  the  brass 
dogs  in  the  big  chimney-places.  Many  men  with  such 
a  possession  would  have  been  restless  to  reach  a  higher 
rank,  but  Philip  Carey  was  a  grave  young  man,  of  re- 
fined and  severe  taste  and  simple  habits.  He  loved  his 
home,  and  was  content  with  it,  and  wanted  nothing  of 
the  world. 

This  evening  he  did  not  feel  so  contented  as  usual : 
his  ears  seemed  still  to  tingle  from  those  blows  at  the 
hand  of  a  child.  He  liked  old  Greek  and  Latin  au- 
thors, and  when  the  day  was  done  liked  to  sit  and  read 
of  a  summer  evening  under  the  biggest  yew  upon  his 
lawn,  with  the  lowing  of  the  cattle,  the  song  of  the 
nightingale,  and  the  cries  of  the  water-birds  the  only 
sounds  upon  the  quiet  air.  But  this  evening  his  fa- 
vorite philosophers  said  nothing  to  him :  had  Plato  or 
any  one  of  them  ever  had  his  ears  boxed  by  a  little  fury 
of  a  strolling  dancer  ? 

The  little  fury,  meanwhile,  was  dancing  the  saUarello 
with  her  brother  before  a  crazy  old  wooden  inn  in 
Dartmouth, — dancing  it  as  the  girls  do  under  the  cork- 
trees in  Sardinia,  and  ucier  the  spreading  oaks  of  the 
Mardies,  and  so  pleasing  the  yokels  of  the  river  town 


IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY.  145 

with  her  grace  and  fire  and  animation  that  the  pence 
rolled  in  by  scores  into  her  tambourine,  and  the  mis- 
tress of  the  poor  little  inn  said  to  her,  "  Nay,  my  pretty, 
as  you  have  gained  them  here  you  must  spend  them 
here,  and  it  is  market-day  to-morrow." 

Gemma  was  quite  happy  to  have  gained  so  much, 
and  she  got  a  modest  little  supper  for  Nonno,  and  a« 
she  shook  down  all  her  dark  gold  hair  in  the  moon- 
light and  looked  on  the  water  rippling  away  past  the 
walls  of  the  old  castle  she  laughed  out,  though  she  was 
all  alone,  thinking  of  the  grave  gentleman  on  the  gray 
horse,  and  murmured  naughtily  to  herself,  "I  hope  I 
did  hurt  hi  in  !     Oh,  I  hope  I  hurt  him  !" 

Then  she  knew  she  ought  not  to  hope  that,  and 
ki&sed  the  Madonnina  that  hung  at  her  throat,  and  asked 
the  Holy  Mother's  pardon,  and  then  laid  herself  down 
on  the  little  hard  bed  and  went  as  sound  asleep  as  a 
flittermouse  in  winter-time. 

The  next  day  was  market-day  in  the  little  sleepy 
Old-World  town  upon  the  Dart,  where  the  ships  and 
the  boats  go  by  on  the  gray  sea  and  the  brown  river- 
water.  There  would  be  watermen  and  countrymen, 
both,  in  numbers,  farmers  and  fisherfolk,  millers  and 
cider-merchants,  peddlers  and  hucksters,  and  egg- wives 
and  wagoners,  and  Nonno  was  early  awakened  by  the 
children,  who  were  eager  to  begin  getting  more  pence 
with  the  sunrise :  the  pence  when  they  were  made  had 
such  a  terrible  knack  of  flying  away  again.  Gemma 
believed  that  they  grew  wings  like  the  butterflies, 
though  she  never  could  see  them,  and  though  she  and 
Nonnc  kept  such  close  watch  and  ward  ov<^  them. 

They  made  themselves  as  spruce  as  they  could  foi 
10 


146  IN   THE  APPLE-COUNTRY. 

the  day.  Gemma  had  washed  her  white  bodice  and 
Bindo's  wliite  shirt,  and,  though  the  scarlet  and  the 
blue  and  the  yellow  had  got  stained  and  weather-worn, 
the  clothes  yet  were  picturesque,  and  with  their  curling 
hair,  and  their  beautiful  big  black  eyes,  and  their  cheeks 
as  warm  and  as  soft  as  peaches,  she  and  Bindo  were  a 
pretty  sight  as  they  bent  and  swayed  and  circled  and 
moved,  now  so  slowly,  now  so  furiously,  in  the  changes 
of  the  saltarello,  whilst  their  grandfather  played  for 
them  on  a  little  wooden  flute,  and  Gemma  beat  her 
tambourine  high  above  her  auburn  head,  and,  as  the 
music  waxed  faster  and  the  dance  wilder,  sprang  and 
whirled  and  leaped  and  bounded  for  all  the  world,  the 
people  said,  like  the  jack-o'-lantern  that  flashes  over 
the  bogs  of  Dartmoor. 

They  danced,  with  pauses  for  rest  between  their  dances, 
all  the  day  long ;  and  when  they  were  so  very  tired  that 
they  could  dance  no  more,  Nonno  began  his  simple 
tricks  with  his  thimble  and  peas,  his  wooden  cups,  and 
his  little  tray  full  of  cards.  They  were  innocent  tricks, 
and  when  he  told  fortunes  by  the  cards  (which  Gemma 
expounded  to  whosoever  would  pay  a  penny  to  hear  the 
future)  he  dealt  out  fate  so  handsomely  that  such  a 
destiny  was  very  cheap  indeed  at  four  farthings. 

The  country-folks  were  pleased  and  content  to  have 
a  gilt  coach  and  horses  and  all  manner  of  good  luck 
promised  them  over  the  cards,  and  the  youths  liked  to 
looK  at  pretty  Gemma,  who  was  so  unlike  the  maidens 
they  picked  apples  with,  or  sold  pilchards  to,  in  their 
green  Devon ;  and  so  the  day  wore  merrily  on  apace, 
and  the  afternoon  sun  was  slanting  towards  its  setting 
over  the  Cornish  shores  and  Cornish  seas  far  away  to 


IN   THE  APPLE-COUNTRT.  147 

the  westward,  when  all  in  a  moment  there  was  a  shout 
of  "  Police !  Police  I"  and  the  good-humored  crowd 
hustled  together  and  made  way,  and  two  constables 
with  wooden  truncheons,  saying  never  a  word,  marched 
up  to  the  poor  little  tray-table,  swept  off  it  cards  and 
coins  and  conjuring  toys,  and  arrested  poor  old  trem- 
bling Nonno  in  the  sacred  name  of  the  Law ! 

Nonno  began  to  scream  a  million  words  to  a  minute, 
but,  alas !  they  were  all  Italian  words,  nobody  under 
stood  one  of  them.  Bindo  sobbed,  and  Gemma,  stand- 
ing a  moment  transfixed  with  horror,  flew  upon  the 
constable  who  had  taken  her  poor  old  grandfather  and 
bit  his  arm  till  the  blood  spurted.  Mad  with  pain,  the 
constable  seized  her,  not  gently,  and  clutched  Bindo  by 
the  collar  with  his  other  hand.  There  was  no  possi- 
bility of  resistance ;  Gemma  fought,  indeed,  like  a  little 
polecat,  but  the  men  were  too  strong  for  her ;  they  soon 
took  her  away  through  the  crowd  on  the  same  road  that 
Nonno  was  taking  peaceably,  and  when  the  crowd  mut- 
tered a  little  at  its  play  being  thus  spoiled,  the  consta- 
bles only  said,  gruffly,  "  Get  you  out  of  the  way,  or 
ye'll  be  clapped  in  jail  too,  maybe;  thimble-rigging, 
card-sharping,  posturing,  gambling,  swindling, — why, 
this  old  dodger  will  have  a  month  of  treadmill  if  he 
have  a  day !" 

And  the  crowd  said  among  itself  that  to  be  sure  the 
old  fellow  was  a  foreigner,  it  would  not  do  to  get  into 
trouble  about  him,  and  most  likely  he  only  made  believe 
to  know  the  future ;  sc  left  him  to  himself,  and  went 
tr  the  alehouses  and  consoled  themselves  for  his  mis- 
fortunes in  draughts  of  cider. 

The  two  constables,  meanwhile,  consigned  the  old 


148  IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY. 

man  aud  his  grandchildren  to  the  lock-up :  Nonno  kept 
sighing  and  sobbing,  and  asking  innumerable  ques- 
tions in  his  own  tongue,  and  Bindo  shrieked  at  the 
top  of  his  voice  as  he  was  dragged  along;  Gemma 
alone,  now  that  she  was  vanquished,  was  mute.  Her 
lips  were  shut  and  silent,  but  her  eyes  spoke,  darting 
out  flames  of  fire  as  if  Vesuvius  itself  were  burning 
behind  them.  For  four  whole  years  they  had  been 
wandering  about  the  southwest  part  of  England,  and 
had  done  no  less  and  no  more  than  they  had  done 
to-day,  and  never  had  they  been  told  that  it  was 
wrong. 

How  could  it  be  wrong  to  make  a  pea  jump  away 
from  under  a  wooden  cup,  and  promise  a  ploughman 
or  a  wagoner  a  coach  and  horses  if  it  pleased  him? 
For  if  Nonno  did  cheat  a  little,  ever  so  little,  poor  old 
man,  the  children  did  not  know  it,  and  whatever 
Nonno  did  was  always  to  them  alike  virtue  and  wis- 
dom. 

The  constables  were  very  angry  with  them;  Gemma 
had  bitten  one  of  them  as  if  she  were  a  little  wild-cat, 
and  the  old  man  seemed  to  them  a  sorry  old  rascal, 
living  by  his  wits  and  his  tricks  and  promising  the 
yokels  coaches-and-six  to  turn  a  penny.  Foreigners 
are  not  favored  by  the  rural  police  in  England ;  and 
whether  they  have  plaster  casts,  dancing  bears,  singing 
children,  performing  mice  or  monkeys,  or  only  a  few 
conjuring  toys,  like  poor  old  Epifania  Santo,  it  is  all 
one  to  the  rural  police:  down  they  go  as  members 
of  the  dangerous  classes.  If  the  market-folks  wanted 
diversion,  th^^re  were  good,  honest  Punch  and  Judy 
gei^erally  to  be  seen  on  fair-days ;  and  once  or  twice  a 


iN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRT.  149 

year,  at  the  great  cider  or  horse  fairs,  there  came  always 
a  show,  with  dwarfs,  and  giants,  and  a  calf  with  two 
heads :  what  more  could  any  country  population  need 
in  the  way  of  entertainment? 

Into  the  lock-up,  accordingly,  they  put  poor  Nonno 
and  his  grandchildren,  and  shut  and  locked  the  door 
upon  them. 

It  was  now  evening-time :  there  was  clean  straw  in 
tlie  place,  and  a  mug  of  water  and  some  bread.  Nonno 
and  Bindo  abandoned  themselves  to  the  uttermost  hope- 
lessness of  despair,  and  laid  themselves  face  downward 
on  the  straw,  sobbing  their  very  hearts  out.  Gemma 
was  dry-eyed,  her  forehead  was  crimson,  her  teeth  were 
set ;  she  was  consumed  with  rage,  that  burnt  up  alike 
her  terror  and  her  pain.  Oh,  why  did  not  a  handful 
of  Neapolitan  sailors  sail  over  the  water,  and  land,  and 
kill  all  these  English?  It  was  four  years  since  she 
had  seen  Naples,  but  she  remembered, — oh,  how  she 
remembered !  And  they  had  come  all  the  way  out  of 
their  own  sunshine  only  to  be  locked  up  in  a  trap  like 
rats  I  Furious  thoughts  of  setting  fire  to  this  prison- 
house  beset  her ;  she  had  matches  in  her  pocket,  but  it 
would  be  hard  to  set  it  on  fire  without  consuming  them- 
selves with  it,  since  the  doors  were  fast  locked.  What 
could  she  do  ?  what  could  she  do  ? 

"  Why  do  they  take  us  ?  We  have  done  no  harm," 
ahe  said,  through  her  shut  teeth. 

"  Oxrma  miaj"  sighed  her  grandfather,  shivering 
where  he  lay  on  the  straw,  "  I  am  afraid  before  the 
law  we  are  a  better  than  the  owls  and  the  wood-rata 
are  we  are  Duly  vagabonds;  we  have  no  dwelling  and 
we  nave  no  trade." 


150  I^  I'ilE  APPLE-COUNTRY. 

"  We  pay  for  our  lodging,  and  we  pay  for  oui 
bread !" 

"  Perl  laps  tbey  do  not  believe  that.  Always  have  I 
been  so  afraid  this  would  happen,  and  now  it  has  come 
at  last." 

The  poor  old  man  sank  back  on  the  straw  again, 
and  began  to  sob  piteously.  Why  had  he  left  the  merry 
crowds  of  the  Strada  del  Male,  where  there  was  always 
a  laugh  and  a  song,  and  a  slice  of  melon  or  of  pasta  f 

At  last  both  he  and  Bindo  sobbed  themselves  into 
sleep,  but  no  sleep  came  to  Gemma;  she  was  wide 
awake,  panting,  hot,  all  alive  with  fury,  all  the  night. 

With  morning  they  were  all  taken  before  the  magis- 
trates, who  were  sitting  that  day.  There  were  a  great 
many  gentlemen  and  officials,  but  among  them  all 
Gemma  only  saw  one,  the  horseman  whose  ears  she 
had  boxed  in  the  lane.  For  Philip  Carey  was  on  the 
bench  that  day,  and  recognized,  with  not  much  pleasure, 
the  little  group  of  Italian  strollers.  They  all  three 
looked  miserable,  jaded,  and  very  dusty.  The  night 
passed  in  the  lock-up  had  taken  all  their  look  of  sun- 
shiny merriment  away ;  the  straw  had  caught  on  their 
poor  garments ;  the  faces  of  NonnO  and  the  little  boy 
were  swollen  and  disfigured  with  crying;  only  Gemma, 
all  dishevelled  and  dusty  and  feverish,  had  a  pride  and 
ferocity  about  her  that  gave  her  strength  and  kept  her 
beauty. 

As  she  was  the  only  one  who  could  talk  any  English, 
she  was  ordered  to  speak  for  the  others ;  but  when  she 
said  her  grandfather's  name  was  Epifania  Santo,  there 
was  a  laughter  in  the  court,  which  incensed  her  so 
bitterly  thai  she  flung  back  her  curls  out  of  her  evee 


IN   THE  APPLE-COVlSTRi.  151 

and  said,  "  If  you  do  not  believe  what  I  say,  wliy  do 
you  want  me  to  speak  ?" 

Then  being  once  started  she  went  on  before  any  of 
the  magistrates  or  officials  could  stop  her :  "  You  have 
taken  us  up ;  why  have  you  taken  us  up  ?  we  have 
done  nobody  any  sort  of  harm.  \ye  only  dance,  and 
Nonno  tells  fortunes,  and  does  the  tricks,  and  you  have 
taken  his  box  away,  and  do  you  call  that  honest  to  a 
poor  man  ?  We  do  not  rob,  we  do  not  kill,  we  do  not 
hurt ;  when  Bindo  takes  an  apple  I  am  angry."  And 
then  her  English,  which  was  apt  to  go  away  from  her 
in  moments  of  excitement,  failed  her  utterly,  and  she 
poured  out  a  torrent  of  NeapoKtan  patois  which  not  a 
soul  there  present  understood,  only  from  her  flashing 
eyes  and  her  expressive  gestures  it  was  easy  to  guess 
that  it  meant  vehement  invective  and  reproach. 

Mr.  Carey  looked  at  her  attentively,  but  he  said 
nothing ;  his  brother  magistrates,  when  she  had  been 
peremptorily  ordered  to  be  still  and  listen,  put  a  few 
sharp  questions  to  her  and  examined  the  witnesses, 
who  were  policemen  and  country-people,  and  who  all 
deposed  to  the  fact  that  the  old  Italian  did  tricks  and 
told  fortunes  and  got  them  to  put  their  pence  down  by 
fair  promises,  and  had  moreover  dice  and  cards  whereby 
he  induced  them  to  lose  money.  The  children  only 
danced ;  they  had  no  habitation ;  they  were  always 
wandering  about ;  by  their  papers  they  were  natives  of 
Naples.  Then  the  constable  whose  arm  Gemma  had 
bitten  appeared  with  it  in  a  sling,  and  stated  what  she 
had  done  to  nim,  and  this  terrible  piece  of  violence 
prejudiced  the  whole  court  greatly  against  her. 

Mr.  Carey  smiled  once ;   he  took  no  share  in  the 


152  IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY. 

examination.  Bat  Gemma  was  always  looking  at  him; 
she  was  always  thinking,  "  This  is  all  his  doing  because 
I  struck  him :  he  has  had  us  all  put  in  prison  because 
I  offended  him." 

She  hated  him, — oh,  how  she  hated  him !  If  she 
had  not  been  so  watched  and  warded  by  the  constables, 
she  would  have  leaped  across  the  court  and  done  the 
same  thing  again.  For  she  did  not  mind  anything  for 
herself;  but  if  they  put  Nonno  and  Bindo  back  in 
prison,  and  parted  them  from  her, — she  knew  people 
were  parted  in  prison  and  boys  and  girls  were  never 
together  there,  nor  ever  the  old  left  with  the  young. 
And  she  knew  too  that  in  England  there  were  prisons 
called  workhouses,  where  they  packed  away  all  the 
people  who  were  poor.  Her  heart  stood  still  with 
fright,  and  all  she  saw  in  the  dusky  court  was  the 
grave  face  of  Philip  Carey,  which  seemed  to  her  like 
the  stony  face  of  Fate. 

"Ah,  bimba  mia"  sobbed  her  grandfather  in  a 
whisper,  "yonder  is  the  gentleman  you  struck  as  he 
rode  on  his  horse.  You  have  been  our  undoing  with 
four  fiery  temper:  always  was  I  afraid  that  you 
would  be  I" 

Under  that  reproof  Gemma's  head  drooped  and  all 
ihe  color  fled  out  of  her  cheeks.  She  knew  that  it  was 
a  just  one. 

Bindo,  meanwhile,  was  clinging  to  her  skirts  and 
whunpering  like  a  poor  little  beaten  puppy,  till  she 
thought  he^  very  brain  would  go  mad,  whirling  round 
and  round  m  such  misery. 

The  magistrates  spoke  togetiier,  Mr.  Carey  alone 
saying  litt».e:   there  was  a  strong  feeling  against  all 


IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY.  153 

atrollers  at  that  time  in  the  county,  on  account  of 
many  robberies  that  had  been  committed  on  outlying 
farms  by  tramps  and  gypsies  in  the  last  few  years,  and 
many  raids  that  had  been  made  on  poultry-hoases, 
apple-lofts,  and  sheep-folds.  Epifania  Santo  and  his 
grandchildren  only  seemed  to  the  bench  idle,  useless, 
and  not  harmless  vagrants,  no  better  than  the  wood- 
rats,  as  old  Nonno  had  said ;  whilst  the  fierce  onslaught 
on  the  constable  of  which  Gemma  had  been  guilty  gave 
their  misdeeds  a  darker  color  in  the  eyes  of  the  Devon 
gentlemen. 

After  some  consultation  and  some  disagreement 
among  the  magistrates,  the  old  man,  having  no  visible 
means  of  subsistence,  was  condemned  to  a  month's 
imprisonment  for  unlawfully  gambhng  and  deceiving 
the  public,  whilst  Bindo  and  Gemma  were  respectively 
ordered  to  be  consigned  to  reformatories.  In  consider- 
ation of  Epifania  Santo's  age,  and  of  his  being  a 
foreigner,  he  was  spared  hard  labor.  When  Gemma 
comprehended  the  sentence,  and  the  old  man  had  been 
made  to  understand  it  also,  such  a  scene  of  grief  and 
of  despair  ensued  as  no  English  court  had  ever  beheld. 
To  the  slow  and  stolid  folk  of  the  banks  of  Dart  it 
«emed  as  if  madness  had  descended  straight  upon 
these  strangers.  Their  passionate  paroxysms  of  woe 
had  no  limit,  and  no  likeness  to  anything  ever  seen  in 
Devon  before. 

Gemma  had  to  be  torn  by  main  force  from  her 
brother  and  grandfather,  and,  writhing  in  the  hands 
of  the  constables  as  an  otte-  writhes  on  a  spear,  she 
shook  ner  little  clinched  fists  at  the  bench,  and,  seeing 
there  only  the  face  o^  Philip  Carey,  who  to  her  belief 


154  iN   THE  APPLE-COUNTRY. 

was  sole  author  of  all  her  sorrows  and  ills,  she  cried 
to  him,  "  I  struck  you  yesterday,  I  will  hurt  you  more 
before  many  days  are  over.  You  are  a  wicked,  wicked, 
wicked  man !" 

Then  the  policeman  seized  her  more  roughly,  and 
put  his  hand  over  her  mouth,  and  carried  her  away  by 
sheer  force. 

"  Did  that  little  jade  really  strike  you  a  blow, 
Carey?"  asked  one  of  his  fellow-magistrates,  in  sur- 
prise. 

Mr.  Carey  smiled  a  little.  "  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  But  I  had  deserved  it." 

"  I  wonder  you  wanted  us  to  be  more  lenient,  then." 

"  One  cannot  be  revenged  on  a  child,"  he  answered, 
"  and  they  are  children  of  the  sun ;  they  have  hotter 
passions  than  ours,  and  quicker  oblivion.  It  would 
have  been  better  to  have  given  them  a  little  money  and 
shipped  them  back  to  Naples.  But  you  outnumbered 
me.  The  old  man  is  inoffensive,  I  think.  After  all, 
a  penny  was  not  much  for  a  yokel  to  pay  to  be  blessed 
by  the  promise  of  a  coach-and-six." 

But  his  fellow-magistrates  did  not  see  the  mattei 
in  this  light,  and  thought  the  old  stroller  well  out 
of  mischief  in  the  jail  of  Dartmouth.  Philip  Carey 
two  days  before  would  have  thought  so  with  them, 
for  he  h£id  the  reputation  of  being  severe  on  the 
bench ;  but  the  sunny,  dusky,  ardent  face  of  Gremma 
had  touched  him,  and  the  love  of  the  three  for  each 
other  seemed  enviable  to  him.  He  had  been  all  alone 
since  lis  early  boyhood,  and  such  affection  as  theirs 
seemed  to  him  a  beautiful  and  priceless  treasure. 
It  was  cruel,  he  thought,  to  tear  it  asunder,  as  cruel 


IN   THE  APPLE-COUNTRY.  155 

B8  to  pluck  all  to  pieces  a  red  rose  just  flowered  to 
the  light. 

He  rode  home  that  evening  in  the  twilight,  some- 
what saddened,  and  doubtful  whether  the  law  was  aa 
just  and  unerring  a  thing  as  he  had  always  until  then 
believed  it. 

The  night  saw  poor  old  Nonno  put  in  prison  as  if 
he  were  a  thief,  and  saw  the  children  severed  and 
taken  respectively  to  the  boys'  and  the  girls'  asylum 
in  a  reformatory  for  naughty  children,  which  some 
good  people  with  the  best  intentions  had  built  and 
endowed  in  the  neighborhood.  They  had  so  clung 
together,  and  so  madly  resisted  being  parted,  that  they 
had  fairly  frightened  the  men  and  women  in  charge 
of  them.  They  had  never  been  away  from  each  other 
an  hour  in  their  lives  ever  since  little  Bindo  had  been 
born  one  summer  day  in  the  cabin  by  the  Mediterra- 
nean and  laid  in  the  half  of  a  great  gourd  as  a  cradle 
for  his  sister's  wondering  eyes  to  admire.  But  severed 
now  they  were,  and  whilst  poor  Bindo  in  the  boys' 
ward  was  subjected  to  such  a  scrubbing  as  he  had 
never  had  in  all  his  days,  and  his  abundant  auburn 
curls  were  cut  short,  Gemma — whose  paroxysms  of 
passion  had  given  place  to  a  stolid  and  strange  qui- 
etude— was  also  bathed,  and  clothed  in  the  clothes  of 
the  reformatory,  whilst  her  many-colored  sash,  her  pic- 
turesque petticoats,  and  her  coral  ear-rings  and  necklace 
were  all  taken  away,  fumigated,  rolled  up  in  a  bundle, 
and  t'cketed  with  a  number.  She  submitted,  but  her 
grea'  eyes  glared  and  glowed  strangely,  and  she  was 
perfectly  oute.  Not  a  single  sound  could  those  set  in 
wmmaud  over  her  force  from  her  lips. 


156  IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY. 

The  superiors  were  used  to  stubborn  children,  savage 
children,  timid  children,  vicious  children ;  but  this 
silence  of  hers,  following  on  her  delirium  of  fury  and 
grief,  was  new  and  startling  to  them. 

She  looked  very  odd,  clad  perforce  in  some  straightly- 
cut  stiff  gray  clothes,  and  when  she  was  set  down,  one 
of  a  long  row,  to  have  supper  off  oatmeal  porridge,  the 
handsome,  pale,  desperate  little  face  of  hers,  with  burn- 
ing eyes  and  an  arched  red  mouth,  looked  amidst  the 
faces  of  the  other  little  girls  like  a  carnation  among 
cabbage-stalks.  Not  a  morsel  would  she  eat;  not  a 
word  would  she  speak;  at  no  one  would  she  even 
look. 

"  Oh,  Nonno !  oh,  Bindo  I"  her  heart  kept  crying, 
till  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  burst,  but  never  a  sound 
escaped  her. 

Poor  little  Bindo,  meanwhile,  was  sobbing  every 
minute,  but  he  ate  his  porridge,  though  he  watered 
it  with  floods  of  tears,  where  he  was  set  among  a  score 
of  gray-clad,  crop-headed  English  boys,  who  were 
gaping  and  grinning  at  him. 

With  the  close  of  evening  Bindo  was  stowed  away 
in  the  boys'  dormitory,  and  Gemma  was  led  to  one  of 
a  number  of  narrow  little  iron  beds  with  blue  counter- 
panes. She  was  undressed  and  bidden  to  lie  down, 
which  she  did.  Her  bed  was  the  last  of  the  row,  and 
next  to  the  wall :  she  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
they  thought  her  resigned.  Soon  the  light  was  put 
out,  and  the  littLo  sleepers  were  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

But  Gemma  never  closed  her  eyes.  Her  heart 
Beemed  to  be  beating  all  over  her  body.  She  stuffed 
tne  sheet  into  her  mouth,  and  bit  it  hard  to  keep  in  the 


/JV    THE  APPLE-COUNTRY.  157 

cries  of  agony  that  sprang  to  her  lips.  Would  she 
ever  see  Nonno  again?  Bindo  she  might,  perhaps, 
but  Nonno, — she  was  sure  he  would  die  in  prison. 

There  was  a  window  in  the  wall  near  the  bed ;  it  was 
unshuttered.  She  could  see  the  gray  of  the  evening 
change  to  the  dark  of  the  night,  and  then  the  moon 
came  out, — the  harvest-moon,  as  they  called  it  here. 
She  was  only  waiting  for  every  one  to  be  asleep  to  get 
up  and  look  out  of  that  window  and  see  whether  it 
would  let  her  escape.  An  under-matron  slept  in  the 
dormitory,  but  at  the  farther  end,  where  everything 
was  quite  hushed,  and  when  the  slow  breathing  of 
the  children  told  that  they  were  all  sleeping  soundly, 
Gemma  got  up  in  her  bed  and  sat  erect.  Finding  all 
was  still,  she  put  one  foot  out  of  bed,  and  then  an- 
other, and  very  softly  stole  to  the  window.  It  was  a 
lattice  window,  and  left  a  little  open^  for  the  night  was 
warm.  A  sweet  smell  of  moist  fields,  of  growing 
grass,  of  honeysuckle  hedges,  came  up  on  the  night 
air.  Gemma  noiselessly  opened  the  window  a  little 
farther  and  looked  out :  it  was  far,  far  down  to  the 
ground  below :  still,  she  thought  it  was  possible  for  her 
to  escape.  She  stole  back  to  the  bedside,  put  on  the 
hideous,  ungainly  cotton  clothes  as  well  as  she  could 
m  the  dark,  and  knotted  the  skirt  of  the  frock  tight 
round  her  limbs  so  as  to  leave  them  untrammelled. 
If  no  one  awoke,  she  could  get  away,  she  reflected ; 
for  her  quick  eyes  had  seen  a  rain-pipe  that  passed 
from  the  casement  to  the  ground. 

She  pa  ised  a  few  moments,  making  sure,  quite  sure, 
that  everj  on  in  the  long  dormitory  was  asleep.  As 
ene  stooo^  she  saw  some  hundred  matches  lying  by  a 


158  IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY. 

lami>,  of  which  the  light  was  put  out,  on  a  little  tablt 
near.  A  cruel  joy  danced  into  her  eyes  :  she  stretched 
out  her  hand  and  took  the  matches  and  slipped  them 
ill  the  bosom  of  her  frock.  Then,  with  the  courage 
of  desperation,  she  climbed  to  the  window-seat,  put 
half  her  body  out  of  it,  and,  clinging  to  the  iron 
pipe  with  both  hands,  let  herself  slide  down,  down, 
dowu,  to  where  she  knew  not.  All  was  dark  beneath 
her. 

But  if  she  slid  into  the  sea  that  would  be  better,  sh» 
said  to  herself,  than  to  live  on  imprisoned. 

As  it  happened,  the  window  was  twenty  feet  and 
more  from  the  earth,  but  the  turf  was  beneath,  and 
the  raiu-pipe  was  so  made  that  she  could  easily  clasp 
it  with  feet  and  hands  and  glide  down  it,  only  grazing 
all  the  skin  off  her  palms,  and  bruising  her  knees  and 
her  chest.  No  one  heard  her,  there  was  no  alarm 
given;  she  reached  the  ground  in  safety  as  a  village 
clock  tolled  ten. 

She  dropped  all  in  a  heap,  and  lay  still,  half  stunned, 
for  some  moments ;  soon  she  got  her  breath  and  her 
wits  again,  and  rose  up  on  her  feet  and  looked  about 
her.  She  knew  all  the  country-side  well,  having  been 
here  ever  since  the  apple- orchards  had  been  in  blossom, 
and,  when  they  had  not  been  performing,  having  scam- 
pered hither  and  thither  with  Bindo,  begging  honey  or 
eggs  at  the  cottages,  or  coaxing  the  boatmen  to  let  them 
drift  down  the  river. 

The  moon  was  now  very  bright,  and  she  saw  that 
she  stood  near  the  Dart  water,  and  she  could  discover 
here  a  s-.t^ple,  there  a  gable,  yonder  a  windmill,  and  so 
forth,  isy  whica  she  could  tell  where  she  was.     She  had 


SHE  ONLY  RAN   ON,    STUMBLING  OFTEN,   AND  FEELING    FOB  THE  MATCHES    IN   THE    BOSOK 
OF    HEK    UGLY  GRAY   COTTON    FEOCK 


IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY.  159 

been  brought  in  a  covered  van  to  the  reformatory,  and 
had  only  known  that  it  was  near  Dartmouth. 

The  grass  on  which  she  stood  grew  under  a  low  wall, 
and  beyond  the  wall  was  a  towing-path,  and  beyond 
that  the  river.  The  towing-path  she  knew  well ;  she 
and  Bindo  had  often  ridden  on  the  backs  of  the  tow- 
ing-horses  or  got  a  seat  in  the  big  barges  by  just  singing 
their  little  songs  and  twanging  their  tambourines. 

The  towing-path  served  her  purpose  well.  She 
looked  back  at  the  big  pile  behind  her,  a  white,  square, 
grim-looking  place;  Bindo  was  sleeping  under  its  roof; 
then  she  hardened  her  heart,  vaulted  over  the  river- 
wall,  and  began  to  run  down  the  river-path. 

She  did  not  hesitate,  for  she  had  a  very  wicked  re- 
solve in  her  soul,  and  her  goal  was  four  miles  away, 
she  knew,  as  a  water-mill  on  the  other  bank  among 
willows  was  an  old  friend  of  hers,  and  told  her  her 
whereabouts.  Not  a  sound  came  from  the  house  be- 
nind  her ;  not  a  creature  had  awakened,  or  the  alarm- 
bell  would  have  been  clanging  and  lights  appearing  at 
every  window.  She  was  quite  safe  thus  far,  and  she 
b^gan  to  run  along  the  dewy  grassy  path  where  the 
glowworms  were  twinkling  at  every  step  under  the 
ferns  and  the  dock  leaves. 

"  The  wicked,  wicked  man  1"  she  kept  saying  in  her 
teeth. 

She  never  saw  the  pretty  glowworms  she  was  so 
fond  of  at  other  times,  or  heard  the  nightingales  sing- 
ing in  the  woods,  for  when  a  sin  is  in  the  soul  it  makes 
the  eyea  blind  and  the  ears  deaf.  She  only  ran  on, 
stumbling  often  and  feeling  for  the  matches  in  the 
bosom  of  her  ugly  gray  cotton  frock.     The  frock  was 


160  IN   THE  APPLE-COUNTRr. 

irksome  to  her:  she  longed  for  her  own  short  skirtx 
and  pliable  bodice,  and  she  missed  the  scarf  about  her 
loins,  and  the  necklace  at  her  throat.  But  she  ran  on 
and  on,  having  a  set  purpose  and  a  great  crime  in  her 
mind. 

She  knew  that  if  she  only  followed  the  towing-path 
long  enough  she  would  come  to  the  place  called  Carey's 
Honor. 

She  knew  it  well:  she  had  often  looked  over  its 
white  gates  and  envied  the  calves  and  the  lambs  in 
its  pastures,  and  wondered  what  the  rooms  were  like 
within  beyond  the  rose-hung  windows,  and  sighed  for 
the  nectarines  and  the  cherries  that  grew  in  its  green 
old  garden-ways.  It  might  be  farther  or  nearer  than 
she  fancied  ;  that  she  could  not  be  sure  about ;  but  she 
knew  that  if  she  went  on  long  enough  along  the  Dart 
water  she  would  come  to  it.  She  did  not  feel  at  all 
frightened  at  being  out  all  alone  so  late ;  after  the  ex- 
citement and  despair  of  the  day  she  seemed  to  have  no 
feeling  left  except  this  one  burning,  consuming,  terrible 
longing  for  vengeance,  which  made  her  feet  fly  over 
the  towing-path  to  the  peaceful  Elizabethan  house 
lying  among  its  yews  and  limes  and  stacks  and  hives 
and  byres  in  the  moonlight. 

She  had  been  running  and  walking  an  hour  and  a 
half  or  more,  when  a  bend  in  the  water  showed  her 
the  twisted  chimney-stacks  and  the  black-and-whit<j 
wood-work  and  the  honeysuckle-covered  porches  of 
+^he  homes^^ad,  with  the  moon  shining  above  it  and 
tlie  green  uplands  sloping  behind.  Then  Gemma, 
whose  young  soul  was  now  so  full  of  wickedness  that 
there  was  not  a  spot  of  light  left  in  it,  climbed  over 


IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY.  161 

Uie  white  wooden  gate  and  crept  up  over  the  wide 
graas-landa  where  the  cattle  were  asleep  and  the  big 
ox-eye  daisies  were  shut  up  at  rest.  The  air  was  full 
of  the  sweet  smell  of  the  dog-rose,  of  the  honeysuckle, 
of  the  sweet  brier,  and  away  across  the  meadows  the 
black-and-white  timbers  and  tlie  deep  gables  of  the 
old  house  were  distinct  in  the  moon-rays. 

She  crossed  the  pastures  and  opened  a  little  wicket 
that  was  never  latched,  and  got  into  the  gardens,  where 
the  stocks  and  picotees  and  gilly -flowers  and  moss  roses 
and  sweet  williams  and  all  other  dear  old-fashioned 
blossoms  were  filling  the  night  with  their  fragrance. 
But  Gemma  had  no  thought  for  them.  She  crept  on 
up  to  the  house,  and  saw  that  in  one  part  the  thatched 
roof  came  down  so  low  to  the  ground  that,  standing 
on  a  stone  bench  which  was  beneath,  she  would  be  able 
to  touch  it.  She  sprang  on  to  the  bench,  drew  her 
matches  out  of  her  bosom,  struck  light  to  them,  and 
was  about  to  thrust  the  blazing  bunch  into  the  thatch, 
when  a  huge  dog  bounded  out  of  the  shadow,  leaped 
on  her,  and  knocked  her  head  downwards  off  the  stone 
seat  on  to  the  grass  :  he  would  have  torn  her  to  pieces, 
only  he  was  such  a  great  and  good  creature  that,  seeing 
she  was  a  child,  he  was  merciful  in  his  strength. 

"  Monarch,  what  is  it,  my  lad  ?"  said  Philip  Carey, 
as  he  came  out  from  the  open  door  of  the  porch, 
alarmed  at  the  noise  of  the  fall. 

The  Newfoundland  left  her  and  went  to  his  master, 
and  Mr.  Carey  saw  the  form  of  Gemma  lying  prone 
upon  his  gravel  and  the  bundk  of  blazing  matches 
etill  clutched  in  her  clinched  hand. 

"  Good  neavens  I  the  child  came  to  burn  my  house 
11 


162  IN   THE  APPLE-GOUNTRT. 

down !"  he  cried,  half  aloud,  as  he  stooped  over  her  and 
afted  her  up :  she  had  fallen  on  the  back  of  her  head 
and  was  stunned  into  insensibility  for  the  moment. 
He  wrenched  the  burning  matches  out  of  her  tightly- 
closed  fingers  and  stamped  the  fire  out  of  them  with 
his  heel.  That  was  soon  done,  and  when  the  danger- 
ous things  were  mere  harmless  splinters  of  wood  he 
lifted  the  insensible  form  of  the  child  up  in  his  arms 
and  carried  her  into  his  house. 

"She  has  escaped  from  the  reformatory,"  he  thought, 
as  he  saw  the  ugly  gray  cotton  gown  and  the  blue  apron 
that  was  tacked  on  to  it. 

He  laid  her  gently  on  a  couch,  and  called  his  house- 
keeper, a  white-haired,  kindly  old  woman,  with  cheeks 
like  the  apples  that  crowded  his  orchards  in  October. 

"  Monarch  knocked  this  little  girl  down,  and  she  is 
senseless  with  the  fall.  Will  you  do  your  best  for  her, 
Mary  ?  She  is  one  of  the  Home  children,"  he  said  to 
the  old  dame,  and  he  did  not  add  a  word  about  the 
matches. 

The  housekeeper's  simple  remedies  soon  recalled 
Gemma  back  to  her  senses,  and  she  opened  her  great, 
frightened,  humid  eyes  to  the  light  of  the  lamp-lit 
room. 

"I zoljini,  I  zolfinil"  she  murmured,  thinking  of  her 
matches  and  vaguely  fancying  that  she  was  in  the  midst 
of  flames.  All  her  English  had  gone  clean  away  from 
her. 

"  It  is  that  foreign  child,  master,"  said  the  house- 
keeper,— "  the  one  that  has  been  roaming  the  country 
ever  since  Dandlemas ;  I  caught  her  little  brother  as 
thp  hen  house  at  Easter-time,  and  spanked  him.    They 


IN   THE  APPLE-COUNTRY.  163 

wtre  hoth  of  them  sentenced,  weren't  they,  in  town 
this  morning,  and  the  old  grandfather  too  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carey,  curtly,  "  she  has  run  away, 
that  is  evident.  Suppose  you  go  and  get  some  little 
room  ready  for  her,  for  she  will  not  be  able  to  go  back 
to-night.  She  is  all  right  now,  I  fancy,  though  she  ia 
not  yet  fairly  awake." 

"  One  of  the  attics,  master  ?  Shall  she  sleep  with 
Hannah  ? — not  as  Hannah  will  stomach  it,  a  little 
waif  and  stray  out  of  prison " 

"  No,  no  ;  get  her  a  nice  little  room  ready  anywhere 
you  like,  but  one  that  is  comfortable.  She  is  a  very 
forlorn  little  maid  :  we  must  be  good  to  her,  Mary." 

"  Her  little  brother  was  at  the  hen-house,  and  I 
spanked  him " 

"  She  is  not  her  brother,"  said  Philip  Carey,  im- 
patiently.    "  Leave  me  with  her  a  little." 

Thougli  her  master  was  very  gentle,  the  house- 
keeper kuew  that  he  chose  to  be  obeyed,  and  she 
trotted  off  up  the  broad  oak  staircase  obediently. 

Philip  Carey  remained  beside  Gemma ;  and  the  big 
black  dog  also  sat  looking  at  her,  with  his  head  held 
critically  on  one  side,  for  he  had  not  made  up  his  mind 
alx)ut  her. 

"  You  came  to  burn  my  house  down  ?"  said  Mr. 
Carey,  gravely,  as  he  looked  full  into  her  face. 

She  understood  what  he  said,  but  she  did  not  answei. 
Her  mind  was  still  confused ;  she  remembered  what 
she  had  come  to  do,  and  she  began  to  understand  that 
Sue  bad  felled  to  do  it  and  was  in  the  power  of  this  man 
'vhom  sht  hated. 

"  I  caught  you  in  the  act."  he  continued,  sternly  , 


164  /^   t'J^E  APPLE-COUNTRY. 

"  and  if  my  dog  had  not  thrown  you  down  you  would 
probably  have  succeeded,  for  old  thatch  burns  like  tin- 
der. Now,  will  you  tell  me  why  you  wished  to  do  me 
80  great  an  injury  ?" 

Gemma  was  still  mute ;  her  brows  were  drawn  to- 
gether, her  eyes  underneath  them  were  flashing  and 
sombre ;  she  had  raised  herself  on  one  arm  on  the 
cushions  of  the  couch,  and  gazed  at  him  in  silence. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  know,"  said  Mr.  Carey,  "  that 
the  crime  of  arson,  the  crime  you  tried  to  commit,  is 
one  punished  by  only  less  severity  than  is  shown  to 
murder.  Very  often  it  becomes  murder  too,  when 
people  are  burned,  as  they  often  are,  in  the  house 
that  is  fired.  For  the  mere  attempt  I  can  have  you 
imprisoned  for  many  years.  Now  tell  me,  I  order 
you  to  tell  me  instantly,  why  you  desired  to  injure  me 
so  hideously  ?" 

Gemma  followed  his  words  and  gathered  their  mean- 
ing, and  felt  forced  to  obey.  But  all  the  passion  of 
hate  and  of  pain  in  her  surged  up  in  broken  utterances, 
for  the  foreign  language  was  ill  able  to  convey  all  the 
vehemence  of  emotion  and  of  indignation  raging  in  her 
heart. 

"  I  came — I  came — I  came,"  she  muttered, "  I  came 
*o  burn  your  house :  yes ;  why  not  ?  I  told  you  in  the 
morning  I  would  do  something  worse  to  you.  I  did 
strike  you,  but  you  had  deserved  it.  You  had  said  I 
was  immodest  J  and  then  because  you  were  angry  you 
had  us  al"  taken  up  by  the  police,  and  y  m  put  dear 
Nonno  in  prison  as  if  he  were  a  thief,  when  he  is  so 
honest  that  ha  scolds  Bindo  if  Bindo  takes  an  apple, 
and  you  have  parted  me  and  Bindo,  and  shut  us  in  a 


IN  THE  APPLE-COUNTRY.  165 

horrible  place,  and  they  have  cut  our  hair  and  washed 
us,  and  I  saw  I  could  get  away  to-night,  and  I  did, 
and  I  dropped  through  the  window ;  and  the  matches 
were  there,  and  I  said  to  myself  I  would  burn  your 
house  down ;  I  had  heard  people  say  that  you  were 
fond  of  your  house,  and  if  you  say  that  it  was  wicked 
of  me,  it  has  been  you  who  have  been  wicked  first. 
You  are  a  bad,  vile,  cruel  man  to  shut  dear  Nonno 
into  your  prisons,  and  he  nearly  ottanf^  uno  years  old, 
and  so  good  and  so  kind  and  so  merry ;  and  never  will 
we  see  him  again,  and  sooner  than  go  back  to  that  place 
which  you  put  me  in,  I  will  drown  myself  in  your  river 
there,  or  make  your  dog  tear  me  to  pieces " 

Then  the  poor  little  soul  burst  into  a  rain  of  tears 
enough  to  have  extinguished  a  million  lighted  lucifer 
matches  or  the  very  fires  of  a  burning  house  had  there 
been  one. 

Philip  Carey  allowed  the  tempest  of  grief  to  exhaust 
itself;  then  he  said  to  her,  in  a  grave  and  very  sweet 
voice,  yet  a  little  sternly, — 

"  My  poor  little  girl,  you  were  ready  to  take  a  great 
crime  on  your  little  white  soul  to-night;  and  who 
knows  where  its  evil  might  have  stopped  ?  Fire  is  not 
a  plaything.  Now,  I  want  you  to  listen  to  what  I  have 
to  say  about  myself.  I  am  a  magistrate,  and  I  was  on 
the  bench  to-day,  it  is  true.  But  I  did  not  approve  of 
the  sentence  passed  on  you  by  men  of  greater  age  and 
weight  in  the  county  than  I  am,  and  I  tried  my  best, 
vainly,  to  have  it  mitigated.  I  had  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  your  grandfather's  arrest.  What  he  did, 
harmless  though  it  seems,  was  yet  against  the  law;  and 
the  mayor  of  the  town  chose  to  enforce  the  law  against 


166  IN   THE  APPLE-COUNTRY. 

him.  More  than  this,  my  dear,  not  only  would  I  not, 
had  I  been  alone,  have  sentenced  your  grandfather  in 
80  severe  a  manner,  but  I  would  have  aided  you  all  to 
return  to  your  own  country.  As  it  is,  I  mean  to-mor- 
row to  use  what  influence  I  possess  to  endeavor  to  ob- 
tain a  remission  of  your  grandfather's  sentence,  and  1 
meant  also  to  go  across  to  Portsmouth  and  see  the 
Italian  consul  there,  to  ascertain  whether  or  not  he 
could  not  help  you  to  go  back  to  Naples  if  I  could 
succeed  in  getting  your  punishments  remitted,  as  I 
hoped  to  do." 

He  paused,  and  Gemma  gazed  at  him  with  dilated 
eyes  and  a  hot  color  on  her  cheeks.  She  was  silent 
and  ashamed. 

"  Now  you  have  spoiled  it  all,"  continued  Mr.  Carey : 
"  how  can  I  beg  for  a  little  incendiary  to  be  let  loose 
on  the  world  ?  And  my  gardener  will  see  those  lucifer 
matches  in  the  morning,  and  every  one  will  know  or 
guess  then  what  you  came  to  do,  and  why  my  dog 
Monarch  sprang  on  you." 

The  color  went  out  of  her  face,  and  her  lips  quivered. 
"  But  it  was  only  me"  she  said,  piteously.  " Nonno 
would  not  have  tried  to  fire  your  house,  nor  Bindo. 
It  was  only  me.  Could  you  not  punish  me  all  by  my- 
self and  let  them  out  ?  If  you  will  only  let  them  out, 
I  will  go  back  to  prison,  and  I  will  not  run  away  again : 
I  will  bear  it  all  my  life  if  I  must,  if  you  will  only 
let  out  Nor  no  and  Bindo  I" 

"  My  dear,"  answered  Philip  Carey,  "  I  have  no 
power :  I  cannot  deal  you  ouv  life  and  death,  as  you 
seem  t^  *;hink.  You  are  a  dangerous  and  fierce  little 
tigr%s,  of  that  there  is  no  doubt;  but  I  do  not  think 


ly    THE  APPLE-COUNTRF.  167 

the  reformatory,  good  as  it  is,  would  improve  you  much. 
Suppose  we  make  a  bargain :  if  you  will  promise  me 
to  try  and  be  good,  I  will  promise  you  to  try  and  liber- 
ate you  all  three,  and  send  you  all  back  in  a  good  ship 
to  your  own  country." 

With  as  much  rapidity  as  she  had  sprung  up  on  his 
saddle  to  box  his  ears.  Gemma  sprang  off  the  couch, 
and,  to  his  great  amazement,  threw  her  arms  about  his 
neck  and  kissed  him. 

"  Oh,  you  are  good  I"  she  murmured,  rapturously. 
"  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  I  love  you  as  much  as  I 
hated  you  yesterday  1" 

And  she  was  so  pretty  that  Philip  Carey  could  not 
be  angry  with  her  any  more. 

She  slept  soundly  that  night  under  the  roof  she  had 
tried  to  burn,  and  in  the  morning  had  the  most  tempt- 
ing breakfast  brought  to  her  on  her  little  bed  that  she 
had  ever  imasined  in  all  her  life,  and  Monarch  came 
and  put  his  big  muzzle  down  on  the  snowy  counterpane, 
and  made  friends  with  her  over  honey  and  muffins  and 
cream. 

Mr.  Carey  kept  his  promise,  and,  by  means  of  con- 
tinuous efforts  for  some  ten  days,  succeeded  in  getting 
the  release  of  poor  old  Epifania  Santo  and  of  Bindo, 
and  obtaining  also  for  them  a  free  passage  by  a  sailing- 
ehip  then  loading  in  Devonport  and  bound  to  go  down 
Channel  to  the  south  coast  of  Italy  with  a  cargo  of  iron 
and  steel. 

During  thia  time  that  he  was  thus  returning  good  for 
evil  and  exerting  himself  in  her  cause,  Gemma  remained 
under  the  care  of  his  housekeeper,  and  saw  him  very 
often  in  each  day,  and  had  a  simple,  pretty,  white  linen 


168  I^  THE  APPLE-COVNTRT 

frock  made  for  her,  and  spent  all  her  time  in  the  gap- 
dens  and  orchards  and  meadows  with  Monarch  and  the 
other  dogs  of  the  house. 

When  Philip  Carey  at  last  announced  to  her  that  all 
was  arranged  for  their  departure  by  the  sailing-vessel, 
and  that  she  would  meet  her  brother  and  grandfather 
at  the  docks,  he  was  surprised  to  see  a  cloud  sweep 
over  her  mobile  face,  and  great  tears  fill  her  eyes  once 
more. 

"  Cannot  we  stay  ?  cannot  we  stay  ?"  she  said,  with  a 
Bob.  "  Grandfather  is  so  afraid  of  the  sea,  and  Bindo 
will  be  so  sorry  to  leave  before  the  apples  are  ripe,  and 
me, — I  cannot  bear  to  leave  you  I" 

"  Do  you  like  me  a  little,  then  ?"  said  Mr.  Carey, 
astonished  and  touched. 

"Oh,  so  much!"  said  Gemma,  with  a  great  sigh. 
"  You  have  been  so  kind,  and  I  have  been  so  wicked." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  much  surprised,  then  an- 
swered,— 

"  Well,  it  might  perhaps  be  arranged.  Your  grand- 
father is  very  old  for  a  voyage,  and  there  is  a  little 
cottage  down  beyond  my  orchards  that  he  might  have ; 
but.  Gemma,  if  I  let  you  stay  on  my  land,  you  must 
promise  me  to  be  very  reasonable  and  obedient,  and  to 
learn  all  you  are  told  to  learn,  and  never  to  give  way 
to  your  furious  passions." 

"  Oh,  I  will  be  so  good  I"  she  cried,  in  ecstasy,  as  she 
sprang  up  in  his  arms  and  kissed  him  again.  "  I  will 
be  so  good  I  and  when  I  am  with  you  I  forget  that  we 
never  really  see  the  sun,  and  Bindo  says  he  is  sure  that 
your  apples  are  better  than  our  grapes  and  figs  and 
oranges  at  home  " 


IJS   THE  APPLE-COUNTRF.  169 

"  It  is  well  you  should  think  so,  if  you  are  to  live 
sU  your  lives  amidst  the  apples,"  said  Philip  Carey, 
with  a  smile. 

So  they  stayed  there ;  and  a  few  years  later,  when 
Gemma  had  grown  a  most  beautiful  young  girl,  and 
become  wise  and  gentle  as  well,  though  she  still  kept 
her  April  face  that  was  all  sunshine  and  storm  in  the 
same  moment,  Philip  Carey  made  her  his  wife  and 
Monarch's  mistress;  and  she  is  still  always  ready  to 
declare  that  apples  are  the  best  and  sweetest  fruit  that 
grows.     For,  you  see,  Love  gathers  them  for  her. 


THE  LITTLE  EARL 


THE   LITTLE   EARL 


The  little  Earl  was  a  very  little  one  indeed,  as 
far  as  years  and  stature  were,  but  lie  was  a  very  big 
one  if  you  consider  his  possessions  and  his  impor- 
tance. He  was  only  a  month  old  when  his  father 
died,  and  only  six  months  old  when  his  mother,  too, 
left  him  for  the  cold  damp  vault,  with  its  marbles 
and  its  rows  of  velvet  coffins, — a  vault  that  was  very 
grand,  but  so  chilly  and  so  desolate  that  when  they 
took  the  little  Earl  there  on  holy-days  to  lay  his 
flowers  down  upon  the  dead  he  could  never  sleep  for 
nights  afterwards,  remembering  its  darkness  and 
solemnity. 

The  little  Earl  was  called  Hubert  Hugh  Lupus 
Alured  Beaudesert,  and  was  the  Earl  of  Avillion  and 
Lantrissaint ;  but  by  his  own  friends  and  his  grand- 
mother and  his  old  nurse  he  was  called  only  Bertie. 

He  was  eight  years  old  in  the  summer-time,  when 
there  befell  him  the  adventure  I  am  going  now  to  relate 
to  you,  and  he  was,  for  his  age,  quite  a  baby ;  he  was 
slender  and  slight,  and  he  had  a  sweet  little  face  like  a 
flower,  with  very  big  eyes,  and  a  quantity  of  fair  hair 
cut  after  the  fashion  of  the  Reynolds  and  Gains- 
borough children.  He  had  always  been  kept  as  if  he 
vera  a  china  doll  that  would  break  at  a  touch.     His 

173 


174  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

grandmother  and  his  uncle  had  been  left  the  sole  charge 
of  him ;  and  aa  thej  wiere  both  invalids,  and  the  latter 
a  priast,  and  both  dvv^elt  in  great  retirement  at  the  caatle 
of  Avillion,  the  little  Earl's  little  life  had  not  been  a 
boy's  life 

He  had  always  been  tranquil,  for  every  one  loved 
him,  and  he  had  all  things  that  he  wished  for ;  yet  he 
was  treated  more  as  if  he  were  a  rare  flower  or  a  most 
fragile  piece  of  porcelain,  than  a  little  bright  boy  of 
real  flesh  and  blood ;  and,  without  knowing  it,  he  was 
often  tired  of  all  his  cotton-wool.  He  was  such  a  tiny 
fellow,  you  see,  to  be  the  head  of  his  race,  and  the  last 
of  it  too ;  for  there  were  no  others  of  this  great  race 
from  which  he  had  sprung,  and  his  uncle,  as  a  priest, 
could  never  marry.  Thus  so  much  depended  on  this 
small  short  life  that  the  fuss  made  over  him,  and  the 
care  taken  of  him,  had  ended  in  making  him  so  in- 
capable of  taking  any  care  of  himself  that  if  he  had 
ever  got  out  alone  in  a  street  he  would  have  been  run 
over  to  a  certainty,  and  as  he  grew  older  he  grew  sad 
and  feverish,  and  chafed  because  he  was  never  allowed 
to  do  the  things  that  all  boys  by  instinct  love  to  do. 
By  nature  the  little  Earl  was  very  brave,  but  he  was 
made  timid  by  incessant  cautions ;  and  as  he  was,  too, 
by  nature  very  thoughtful,  the  seclusion  from  other 
children  in  which  he  was  brought  up  made  him  too 
serious  for  his  age. 

Avillion  was  deep-bosomed  in  woods,  throned  high 
above  a  lake  and  moors  and  mountains,  and  setting  its 
vast  stone  buttresses  firmly  down  into  the  greenest, 
smoothest  turf  in  all  the  green  west  country  of  Eng- 
Und    a  grand  ant"   glorious  place,  famous  in  history, 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  175 

full  of  majesty  and  magnificence,  and  sung  to,  forever, 
by  the  deep  music  of  the  Atlantic  waves.  Onc<i  upon 
a  time  the  Arthurian  Court  that  Mr.  Tennyson  has  told 
you  of  so  often  had  held  its  solemn  jousts  and  its  blame- 
less revels  there;  at  lea-st,  so  said  the  story  of  Avillion, 
«.s  told  in  ballads  of  the  country-side, — more  trust- 
worthy historians  than  most  people  think. 

All  those  ballads  the  little  Earl  knew  by  heart,  and 
he  loved  them  more  than  anything,  for  Deborah,  his 
nurse,  had  crooned  them  over  his  cradle  before  ever  he 
could  understand  even  the  words  of  them  ;  so  that 
Arthur  and  Launcelot,  and  Sir  Gawain  and  Sir  Grala- 
had,  and  all  the  knightly  lives  that  were  once  at  Tin- 
tagel,  were  more  real  to  him  than  the  living  figures 
about  him,  and  these  fancies  served  him  as  his  play- 
mates,— for  he  had  few  others,  except  his  dog  Ralph  and 
his  pony  Royal.  His  relatives  were  ailing,  melancholy, 
attached  to  silence  and  solitude,  and  though  they  would 
have  melted  gold  and  pearls  for  Bertie's  drinking  if 
he  could  have  drunk  them,  never  bethought  themselves 
that  noise  and  romps  and  laughter  and  fun  and  a  little 
spice  of  peril  are  all  things  without  which  a  child's  life 
is  as  dead  and  spiritless  as  a  squirrel's  in  a  cage.  And 
Bertie  did  not  know  it  either.  He  studied  under  his 
tutor.  Father  Philip,  a  noble  and  learned  old  man,  and 
he  was  caressed  and  cosseted  by  his  nui'se  Deborah,  and 
he  wore  beautiful  little  dresses,  most  usually  of  velvet 
and  he  had  wonderful  toys  that  were  sent  from  Pans 
automatons  that  danced  and  fence<l  and  playe<l  the 
guitar  and  animals  that  did  just  what  livo  animals  do 
and  Punches  and  puppets  that  played  and  mimicked  b\ 
clock-work,  and  little  yachts  that  sailed  by  clock-work 


176  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

and  whole  armies  of  soldiers,  and  marvellous  games 
costly  and  splendid ;  but  he  had  nobody  to  play  at  all 
these  things  with,  and  it  was  dull  work  playing  with 
them  by  himself.  Deborah  played  with  them  in  the 
best  way  she  knew,  but  she  was  not  a  child,  being  sixty- 
six  years  old,  and  was  of  a  slow  imagination  and  of 
rheumatic  movements. 

"  Run  and  play,"  Father  Philip  would  often  say  to 
him,  taking  him  perforce  from  his  books;  but  the 
little  Earl  would  answer,  sadly,  "I  have  nobody  to 
play  with !" 

That  want  of  his  attracted  no  attention  from  all 
those  people  who  loved  the  ground  his  little  feet  trod 
on ;  he  was  surrounded  with  every  splendor  and  indul- 
gence, he  had  half  the  toys  of  the  Palais  Royal  in  his 
nursery,  and  he  had  a  bed  to  sleep  in  of  ivory  inlaid 
with  silver,  that  had  once  belonged  to  the  little  King 
of  Rome ;  millions  of  money  were  being  stored  up  for 
him,  and  lands  wide  enough  to  make  a  principality 
called  him  lord  :  it  never  occurred  to  anybody  that  the 
little  Earl  of  Avillion  was  not  the  most  fortunate  child 
that  lived  under  the  sun. 

"Why  do  people  all  call  me  'my  lord'?"  he  asked 
one  day,  suddenly  becoming  observant  of  this  fact. 

"  Because  you  are  my  lord,"  said  Deborah, — which 
did  not  content  him. 

He  asked  Father  Philip. 

"  My  dear  little  boy,  it  is  your  title :  think  not  of 
it  savq  as  an  obligation  to  bear  your  rank  well  and 
without  stain." 

At  last  the  little  Earl  grew  so  pale  and  thin  and  so 
delicate  in  health  that  the  physician  who  was  always 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  177 

watching  over  hira  said  to  his  grandmother  that  the  boy 
wanted  change  of  air,  and  advised  the  southern  coast 
for  him,  and  cessation  of  almost  all  study;  which  order 
grieved  Father  Philip  sorely,  for  Bertie  could  read  his 
Livy  well,  and  was  beginning  to  spell  through  his 
Xenophon,  and  it  cut  the  learned  gentleman  to  the 
heart  that  his  pupil  should  give  up  all  this  and  go  back 
on  tlie  royal  road  to  learning.  For  both  he  and  his 
uncle  were  resolved  that  the  little  Earl  should  be  very 
learned,  and  the  boy  was  eager  enough  to  learn,  only 
he  liked  still  better  knowing  how  the  flowers  grew,  and 
why  the  birds  could  fly  while  he  could  not,  and  how 
the  wood-bee  made  his  neat  house  in  the  tree-trunk,  and 
the  beaver  built  his  dam  across  the  river, — inquiries 
which  everybody  about  him  was  inclined  to  discourage. 
Natural  science  was  not  looked  on  with  favor  in  the 
nursery  and  school-room  of  Avillion.  It  was  considered 
to  lead  people  astray. 

So  the  little  Earl  was  moved  southward,  with  his 
grandmother,  and  his  nurse,  and  his  physician,  and 
Ralph  and  Royal, — for  he  would  not  go  without  them, 
— and  several  servants  as  well.  They  were  to  go  to 
Shanklin  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  they  made  the 
journey  by  sea  in  the  beautiful  sailing-yacht  which  was 
waiting  for  Bertie's  manhood,  after  having  been  the 
idol  of  his  father's.  On  board,  the  little  Earl  was  well 
amused;  but  he  worried  every  one  about  him  by  ques- 
tions as  to  the  fishes. 

"  Lord,  child !  they  are  but  nasty  clammy  things, 

only  nice  when  they  are  cooked,"  said  his  nurse ;  and 

his  grandmamma  said  to  him,  "  Dear,  they  were  made 

to  live  in  the  sea,  just  as  the  birds  are  made  to  fly  in 

12 


178  THE  LITTLE   EARL. 

the  air."  And  this  did  not  satisfy  the  little  man  at  ailj 
but  he  could  get  no  more  information,  for  the  doctor, 
who  could  have  told  him  a  good  deal,  was  under  the 
thumb  of  his  stately  mistress,  and  Lady  Avillion  had 
said  very  sternly  that  the  boy  was  not  to  be  encouraged 
in  his  nonsense :  what  he  must  be  taught  were  the 
duties  of  his  position  and  all  he  owed  to  the  country, — 
the  poor  little  Earl  1 

He  was  a  very  small,  slender,  pale-cheeked  lord  in- 
deed, with  his  golden  hair  hanging  over  his  puzzled 
forehead,  that  used  to  ache  sometimes  with  carrying 
Xenophon  and  Livy,  and  underneath  the  hair  two 
great  wondering  blue  eyes,  of  a  blue  so  dark  that  they 
were  like  wet  violets.  His  hands  were  tiny  and  thin, 
and  his  legs,  clad  in  their  red-silk  stockings  and  black- 
velvet  breeches,  were  like  two  sticks :  people  who  saw 
him  go  by  whispered  about  him  and  said  all  the  poor 
little  fellow's  rank  and  riches  would  not  keep  him  long 
in  the  land  of  the  living.  Once  the  little  Earl  heard 
that  said,  and  understood  what  it  meant,  and  thought 
to  himself,  "  I  shouldn't  mind  dying  if  I  could  take 
Ralph  :  perhaps  there  would  be  somebody  to  play  with 
there." 

It  was  May,  and  there  were  not  many  folks  J>t 
Shanklin :  still,  there  were  two  or  three  children  he 
might  have  played  with,  but  his  grandmamma  thought 
them  vulgar  children,  not  fit  playmates  for  him ;  and 
90  the  poor  little  Earl,  with  the  burden  of  his  great- 
ness, had  to  walk  soberly  and  sadly  past  them,  with 
his  little  tired  red-stockinged  legs,  while  the  little  girls 
said  to  each  other,  in  a  whisper,  "  There's  a  little  lord !" 
ADC?  the  boys  hallooed  out,  "  He's  the  swell  that  owna 


THE   LITTLE  EARL.  179 

ilie  schooner."  Bertie  would  sigh,  as  he  heard  :  what 
was  the  use  of  owning  the  schooner,  when  you  had  no 
one  to  play  with  on  it,  and  never  could  do  what  you 
liked  ? 

You  have  never  seen  Shanklin,  for  you  have  never 
been  in  England ;  and  if  you  do  go  now,  you  will 
never  see  it  as  it  was  when  Bertie  walked  there,  when 
it  was  the  prettiest  and  most  primitive  little  place  in 
England ;  now,  they  tell  me,  it  has  been  made  into  a 
watering-place,  with  a  pier  and  an  esplanade. 

Shanklin  used  to  be  a  little  green  mossy  village  cov- 
ered up  in  honeysuckle  and  hawthorn  ;  low  long  houses, 
green  too  with  ivy  and  creepers,  hid  themselves  away 
in  sweet-smelling  old-fashioned  gardens ;  yellow  roads 
ran  between  high  banks  and  hedges  out  to  the  green 
down  or  downward  to  the  ripple  of  the  sea ;  and  the 
cool  brown  sands,  glistening  and  firm,  twice  a  day  felt 
the  kiss  of  the  tide.  The  cliffs  were  brown  too,  for  the 
most  part ;  some  were  white ;  the  gray  sea  stretched  in 
front ;  and  the  glory  of  the  place  was  its  leafy  chine 
and  ravine  that  severed  the  rocks  and  was  full  of 
foliage  and  of  the  sound  of  birds.  It  used  to  be  all 
so  quiet  there ;  now  and  then  there  passed  in  the  offing 
a  brig  or  a  yacht  or  a  man-of-war;  now  and  then 
farmers'  carts  came  in  from  the  downs  by  Appuldur- 
combe  or  the  farms  beyond  the  Undercliff ;  there  were 
some  fishing-cabins  by  the  beach,  and  one  old  inn  with 
a  long  grassy  garden,  where  the  coaches  used  to  stop 
that  ran  through  the  quiet  country  from  Ryde  to 
Ven-^nor.  It  was  so  green,  so  still,  so  friendly,  so 
fresh  when  I  think  of  it  I  hear  the  swish  of  its  lazy 
•\aves  ana  I  sraell  tlie  smell  of  its  eglantine  hedges, 


180  THE   LITTLE  EARL. 

and  I  see  the  big  brown  eyes  of  my  gallaut  dog  as  he 
came  breathless  up  from  the  sea. 

Alas!  you  will  never  see  it  so.  The  hedges  are 
down,  they  tell  me,  and  the  grand  dog  is  dead,  and  the 
hateful  engine  tears  through  the  fields,  and  the  sands 
are  beaten  to  make  an  esplanade,  and  the  beach  is 
noisy  and  hideous  with  the  bray  of  bands  and  the 
laughter  of  fools. 

What  will  the  world  be  like  when  you  are  twenty  ? 
V^ery  frightful,  I  fear.     This  is  progress,  they  say  ? 

But  what  of  the  little  Earl  ?  you  ask. 

Well,  the  little  Earl  knew  Shanklin  as  I  knew  it, — 
when  the  blackbirds  and  thrushes  sang  in  the  quiet 
chine,  and  the  sense  of  an  infinite  peace  dwelt  on  its 
simple  shores.  His  grandmamma  had  taken  for  the 
summer  the  house  that  stands  in  its  woods  at  the  head 
of  the  chine  and  looks  straight  down  that  rift  of 
greenery  to  the  gray  sea.  I  know  not  what  that  house 
is  now;  then  it  was  charming,  chalet-like,  yet  spa- 
cious. 

Here  the  little  Earl  was  set  free  of  his  studies  and 
kept  out  in  the  air  when  it  was  fine,  and  when  it 
rained  was  sent,  not  to  his  books,  but  to  his  toys.  Yet 
it  did  not  seem  to  him  any  great  change  ;  for  when  he 
rode,  James  was  with  him;  and  when  he  walked, 
Deborah  was  with  him  ;  and  when  he  bathed,  William 
was  with  him ;  and  when  he  was  only  in  the  garden, 
tJiere  was  grandmamma. 

He  was  never  alone.  Oh,  how  he  longed  to  be  alone 
sometimes '  And  he  never  had  any  playfellows  :  how 
he  would  watch  those  two  or  three  vulgar  little  boys 
building  sand-castles   and   sailing   their  boats  I      He 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  181 

would  have  given  all  his  big  schooner  and  its  crew  ki 
be  one  of  those  little  boys. 

He  had  a  cruise  now  and  then  off  the  island,  and  tht 
Bkipper  came  up  bare-headed  and  hoped  my  lord  en- 
joyed the  sail ;  but  he  did  not  enjoy  it:  William  and 
Deborah  were  always  after  him,  telling  him  to  mind 
this,  and  take  care  of  that,  till  he  wished  his  pretty 
snow-white  sailor  dress  with  the  gold  buttons  were 
only  rags  and  tatters !  For  the  poor  little  Earl  was 
an  adventurous  and  curious  little  lad  at  heart,  and  had 
a  spirit  of  his  own,  though  he  was  so  meek ;  and  he 
was  tired  of  being  treated  like  a  baby. 

His  eighth  birthday  came  round  in  June,  and  won- 
derful and  magnificent  were  the  presents  he  had  sent 
him  ;  but  he  only  felt  a  little  more  tired  than  he  had 
done  before ;  the  bonbons  he  was  not  allowed  to  eat, 
the  splendidly-bound  books  seemed  nonsense  to  a  little 
classic  who  read  Livy ;  the  toys  he  did  not  care  for, 
and  the  gold  dressing-case  his  grandmamma  gave  him 
was  no  pleasure :  he  had  one  in  silver,  and  his  very 
hair  he  was  never  permitted  to  brush  himself. 

"As  I  may  not  eat  the  bonbons,  might  I  send  them 
all  to  the  children  on  the  sands?"  he  asked  wistfully 
of  his  grandmother. 

"  Impossible,  my  love,"  she  answered.  "  We  do  not 
know  who  they  are." 

"  May  I  give  them  to  the  poor  children  then  ?"  said 
the  little  lad. 

"  That  would  hardly  be  wise,  dear.  It  would  give 
them  a  taste  for  luxuries." 

Bertie  sighed :  life  on  this  his  eighth  birthday  seemed 
very  empty 


182  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

"  Why  are  people  strangers  to  each  other  ?  Why 
does  not  everybody  speak  to  every  one  else  ?"  he  said 
at  last,  desperately.  "  St.  Paul  says  we  are  all  brothers, 
and  St.  Francis " 

"  My  dear  child,  do  not  talk  nonsense,"  said  Lady 
Avillion.  "  We  shall  have  you  a  Eadical  when  you 
are  of  age !" 

"  What  is  that?"  said  Bertie. 

"  The  people  who  slew  your  dear  Charles  the  First 
were  Radicals,"  said  his  grandmother,  cleverly. 

He  was  discouraged  and  silent.  He  went  sorrow- 
fully and  leaned  against  one  of  the  windows  and  looked 
down  the  green  vista  of  the  chine.  It  was  raining,  and 
they  would  nc>^  let  him  go  out  of  doors.  He  thought 
to  himself,  "  What  use  is  it  calling  me  '  my  lord,'  and 
telling  me  I  own  so  much,  and  bowing  down  before 
me,  if  I  may  never  do  once,  just  once,  as  I  like?  I 
know  I  am  a  little  boy ;  but  then,  if  I  am  an  Earl,  if 
I  am  good  enough  to  be  that,  I  ought  to  be  able  to  do 
once  as  I  like.  Else,  if  not,  what  is  the  use?  And 
why  does  the  skipper  say  always  to  me,  •  Your  lord- 
ship is  owner  here'  ?" 

And  then  a  fancy  came  into  his  little  head.  Was 
he  like  the  Princes  in  the  Tower?  Was  he  a  prisoner, 
after  all  ?  His  little  mind  was  full  of  the  pageant  of 
history,  and  he  made  his  mind  up  now  that  he  was  a 
princely  captive  watched  and  warded. 

"Tell  me,  dear  Deb,"  he  said,  catching  his  nurse 
by  the  sleeve  as  she  turned  from  his  bed  that  night, 
"teE  me,  is  it  not  true  that  1  sm  in  prison,  though 
you  are  all  s-"  kind  to  me ;  that  somebody  else  wants 
nay  throne?^' 


THE  LITTLE   EARL.  183 

Nurse  Deborah  thought  he  was  "  off  his  head,"  and 
ran  to  the  physician  for  a  cooling  draught,  and  sat  up 
in  fright  all  the  night,  not  even  reassured  by  his  sound 
tranquil  sleep. 

Bertie  asked  her  nothing  more. 

He  was  more  sure  than  ever  that  a  captive  he  was, 
kept  in  kindly  and  honorable  durance,  like  James  of 
Scotland  in  the  Green  Tower. 

Whilst  he  was  lying  awake,  a  grand  and  startling 
idea  dawned  on  him :  What  if  he  were  to  go  out  and 
see  the  world  for  himself?  This  notion  has  fascinated 
many  a  child  before  him.  Did  not  St.  Teresa  of  Spain, 
when  she  was  a  little  thing,  toddle  out  with  a  tiny 
brother  over  the  brown  sierras?  So  absolutely  now 
did  this  enterprise  dazzle  and  conquer  the  little  Earl 
that  before  night  was  half-way  over  he  had  persuaded 
himself  that  a  prisoner  he  was,  and  that  his  stolen 
kingdom  he  would  go  and  find,  just  as  the  knights  in 
his  favorite  tales  sallied  forth  to  seek  the  Holy  Grail. 
The  passion  for  adventure,  for  escape,  for  fiudiug  out 
the  truth,  grew  so  strong  on  him  that  at  the  firat  flush 
of  daybreak  he  slid  out  of  bed  and  resolved  that  go 
alone  he  would.  He  longed  to  take  Ralph,  but  he 
feared  it  would  not  be  right:  who  knew  what  perils  or 
pains  awaited  him? — and  to  make  the  dog  sharer  in 
them  seemed  selfish.  So  he  threw  a  glove  of  his  own 
for  Ralph  to  guard,  bade  him  be  still,  and  set  about 
his  own  flig-ht. 

He  madb  a  sad  bungle  of  dressing  himself,  for  he 
had  never  clothed  himself  in  his  life;  but  at  last  he 
got  tn;  things  on  somehow,  and  most  of  them  hind- 
part-bef^re.     But  he  daa  it  all  without  awaking  Deb 


184  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

orah,  and,  taking  his  sailor-hat,  he  managed  to  drop 
out  of  the  window  on  to  the  sward  below  without  any 
one  being  aware. 

It  was  quite  early  day;  the  sky  was  red,  the  shadows 
And  the  mists  were  still  there,  the  birds  were  piping 
good-morrow  to  each  other. 

"  How  lovely  it  is  \"  he  thought.  "  Oh,  why  doesn't 
everybody  get  up  at  sunrise  ?" 

He  knew,  however,  that  if  he  wanted  to  see  the 
world  by  himself  he  must  not  tarry  there  and  think 
about  the  dawn.  So  off  he  set,  as  fast  as  his  not  very 
strong  legs  could  carry  him,  and  he  got  down  to  the 
shore. 

The  fog  was  on  the  sea  and  screened  it  from  his 
sight,  and  there  was  no  one  on  the  beach  except  a  boy 
getting  nets  ready  in  an  old  boat.  To  the  boy  ran 
Bertie,  and  held  to  him  two  half-crowns.  "  Will  you 
row  me  to  Bonchurch  for  that  ?"  he  asked. 

The  boy  grinned.  "  For  sure,  little  master ;  and 
I'd  like  to  row  a  dozen  at  the  price." 

Into  the  boat  jumped  the  little  Earl,  with  all  the 
feverish  agility  given  to  prisoners,  who  are  escaping, 
by  their  freed  instincts.  It  was  a  very  old,  dirty  boat, 
and  soiled  his  pretty  white  clothes  terribly,  but  he  liad 
no  eyes  for  that,  he  so  enjoyed  that  delicious  sense  of 
being  all  alone  and  doing  just  as  he  liked.  The  boy 
was  a  big  boy  and  strong,  and  rowed  with  a  will  j  and 
the  old  tub  went  jumping  and  bobbing  and  splashing 
through  the  rather  heavy  swell.  The  gig  of  his  yacht 
was  a  smart,  long  boat,  beautifully  clean,  and  with 
rowers  al"  dressed  in  red  caps  and  white  jerseys ;  but 
t^^e  little  Earl  had  never  enjoyed  rowing  in  thai  half 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  185 

M)  much.  There  had  been  always  somebody  to  look 
al'ter  him  and  say,  *'  Don't  lean  over  the  side,"  or, 
"  Mind  the  water  does  not  splash  you,"  or,  "  Take 
care  1"  Oh,  that  tiresome  "  Take  care  !"  It  makes  a 
boy  want  to  jump  head-foremost  into  the  sea,  or  fling 
himself  head-downwards  from  the  nearest  apple-tree  1 
I  know  you  have  felt  so  yourself  twenty  times  a  week, 
though  I  do  not  tell  you  that  you  were  right. 

Nothing  is  prettier  than  the  Undercliff  as  you  look 
up  at  it  from  the  sea, — a  tangle  of  myrtle  and  laurel 
and  beech  and  birch  coming  down  to  the  very  shore, 
all  as  Nature  made  it.  Bertie,  as  the  boat  wabbled 
along  like  a  fat  old  duck,  looked  up  at  it  and  was  en- 
chanted, and  then  he  looked  at  the  white  wall  of  mist 
on  the  waters,  and  was  enchanted  too.  It  was  like 
Wonderland.  His  dreams  were  broken  by  the  fisher- 
lad's  voice : 

"  I'll  have  to  put  you  ashore  at  the  creek,  little  mas- 
ter, and  get  back,  or  daddy  '11  give  me  a  hiding." 

"Who  is 'daddy'?" 

"  Father,"  said  the  boy.  "  He'll  lick  me,  for  the 
tub's  his'n." 

Bertie  was  perplexed.  He  had  heard  of  bears  being 
licked  into  shape  by  their  fathers  and  mothers,  but  thia 
l)oy,  though  rough  and  rather  shapeless,  looked  too  old 
for  such  treatment. 

"  You  were  a  wicked  boy  to  use  the  boat,  then,"  he 
said,  with  great  severity. 

The  lad  only  grinned. 

"  Little  master,  /ou  tipped  me  a  crown." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  tempt  you  to  do  wrong,"  said 
Bertie  very  seriously  still ;   and  then  he  colored,  f(» 


186  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

was  he  very  sure  that  he  was  not  doing  wrong  him- 
self? 

The  old  boat  was  grinding  on  the  shingle  then,  and 
the  rower  of  it  was  putting  him  ashore  at  a  little  creek 
that  was  wooded  and  pretty,  and  up  which  the  sea  ran 
at  high  tide ;  there  was  a  little  cottage  at  the  head  cf 
it.  I  have  heard  that  this  wood -glen  used  to  be  in  the 
old  time  a  very  famous  place  for  smugglers,  and  it  is 
still  solitary  and  romantic,  or  at  least  was  so  still 
when  the  little  Earl  was  set  down  there.  "Where 
am  I  ?"  he  asked  the  boy.  But  the  wicked  boy 
only  grinned,  and  began  to  wabble  back  through  the 
water  as  fast  as  his  long  slashing  strokes  could  carry 
him.  The  little  Earl  felt  rather  foolish  and  rather 
helpless. 

He  was  not  far  on  his  way  towards  seeing  the  world, 
and  he  began  to  wish  for  some  l^reakfast.  There  was 
smoke  going  out  of  a  chimney  of  the  cottage,  and  the 
door  of  it  stood  open,  but  he  was  afraid  the  people  there 
might  stop  him  if  he  asked  for  anything,  and,  besides, 
the  path  up  to  it  through  the  glen  looked  rocky  and 
thorny  and  impassable,  so  he  kept  along  by  the  beach, 
finding  it  heavy  walking,  for  there  were  more  stones 
than  sands,  and  the  beach  was  strewn  with  rocks,  large 
and  small,  and  stiff  prickly  furze.  But  he  had  the  sea 
beside  him  and  the  world  before  him,  and  he  walked 
on  bravely,  and  in  a  little  while  he  came  into  Bon- 
eburch.  It  was  very  early  yet,  and  Bonchurch  was 
asleep,  and  most  of  its  snug  thatched  houses,  hidden 
away  ii  their  gardens  and  luchsia  hedges,  were  shut 
up  srngly ;  the  tall  trees  of  its  one  street  made  a  deep 
shadow  in  it,  a^ii  the  broad  placid  water  of  its  gnsat 


THE  LITTLE    EARL.  187 

pool  was  green  with  their  reflection :  it  was  a  sweet, 
quiet  place,  leafy  as  any  haunt  for  fairies,  yet  on  the 
very  edge  of  the  sea. 

At  a  baker's  shop,  a  woman  was  lifting  down  the 
shutters.  The  little  Earl  took  his  hat  off  very  prettily 
and  said  to  her, — 

"  If  you  please,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  sell  me 
some  bread-and-milk  ?" 

The  woman  stared,  then  laughed. 

"  Lord  bless  your  pretty  face !  I  only  sell  bread,  but 
I'll  give  you  some  milk  in,  for  sake  of  your  pinched 
cheeks.     Come  along  inside,  little  gentleman." 

He  went  inside ;  it  seemed  a  very  funny  place  to 
him,  so  small  and  so  dark,  and  so  dusty  with  flour  ; 
but  the  smell  of  baking  was  sweet,  and  he  was  hungry. 

She  bustled  about  a  little,  and  set  before  him  a  bowl 
of  bread-and-milk,  with  a  wooden  spoon  to  eat  it  with. 
The  little  Earl  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  to  pay  for  it ; 
lo  !  he  had  not  a  farthing  ! 

He  turned  very  red,  and  then  very  white,  and  thought 
to  himself  that  the  money  must  have  tumbled  into  the 
sea  with  his  watch,  which  was  missing  too. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  the  wicked  boy  had 
taken  both  ;  yet  such  was  the  sad  fact. 

He  rose,  very  sorrowful  and  confused  and  ashamed. 

"  Madam,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  in  his  little 
ceremonious  way :  "  I  thought  I  had  money,  but  I 
have  lost  it.  Thank  you  very  much,  but  I  cannot 
take  the  food." 

The  woman  wa?  good-natured  and  shrewd. 

"  Lord  I  sup  it  up,  my  dear  little  gentleman,"  she 
said   U    him.      ^You  are  welcome  to  it, — right  wel- 


188  TBE  LITTLE  EARL. 

come,  you  are ;  and  your  pa  and  your  ma  can  pay  for 
it." 

"  No,  no,"  murmured  Bertie,  getting  very  red;  and, 
fearing  lest  his  longing  for  the  meal  should  overcome 
his  honor,  he  stumbled  out  of  the  baking-house  door 
and  ran  up  the  tree-shadowed  road  faster  than  ever  he 
had  run  in  his  life. 

To  be  sure,  he  had  plenty  of  money  of  his  own  ; 
they  all  said  so  ;  but  he  never  knew  well  where  it  was, 
or  what  it  meant ;  and,  besides,  he  intended  never  to 
go  back  to  his  grandmother  and  Deborah  and  Ralph 
and  Royal  any  more,  till  he  had  found  out  the  truth 
and  seen  his  kingdom. 

So  he  ran  on  through  Bonchurch  and  out  of  it,  leav- 
ing its  pleasant  green  shade  with  a  little  sigh,  half  of 
impatience,  half  of  hunger.  He  did  not  go  on  by  the 
gea,  for  he  knew  by  hearsay  that  this  way  would  take 
him  to  Ventnor,  and  he  was  afraid  people  in  a  town 
would  know  him  and  stop  him ;  so  he  set  forth  inland, 
where  the  deep  lanes  delve  tlirough  the  grassy  downs  , 
and  here,  sitting  on  a  stile,  the  little  Earl  saw  the 
ploughboy  eating  something  white  and  round  and  big 
that  he  himself  had  never  seen  before. 

"  It  must  be  something  very  delicious  to  make  him 
enjoy  it  so  much,"  thought  the  little  Earl,  and  then 
curiosity  entered  so  into  him,  and  he  longed  so  much 
to  taste  this  wonderful  unknown  thing,  that  he  went 
up  to  the  boy  and  said  to  him, — 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  let  me  know  what  you 
are  eating  ?" 

The  ploughboy  grinned  from  ear  to  ear. 

"  For  certain,,  little  zurr,"  he  said,  with  a  burr  and 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  189 

a  drawl  in  his  speech,  and  he  gave  the  thing  to  Bertie, 
which  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  peeled  turnip. 

The  little  Earl  looked  at  it  doubtfully,  for  he  did 
not  much  fancy  what  the  other  had  handksd  with 
his  big  brown  hands  and  bitten  with  his  big  yellow 
teeth.  But  then,  to  enjoy  anything  as  much  as  that 
other  had  enjoyed  it,  and  to  taste  something  quite 
unknown  ! — this  counterbalanced  his  disgust  and  over- 
ruled his  delicacy.  One  side  of  the  great  white  thing 
was  unbitten;  he  took  an  eager  tremulous  little  bite 
out  of  tbat. 

"  But,  oh  !"  he  cried  in  dismay  as  he  tasted,  "  it  has 
no  taste  at  all,  and  what  there  is  is  nasty !" 

"  Turnips  is  main  good,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  the  little  Earl,  with  intense  horror ; 
and  he  threw  the  turnip  down  amongst  the  grass,  and 
went  away  sorely  puzzled. 

"  Little  master,"  roared  Hodge  after  him,  "  I'll  bet 
as  you  aren't  hungry." 

That  was  it,  of  course. 

The  little  Earl  was  not  really  hungry, — never  had 
been  really  hungry  in  all  his  life.  But  this  explana- 
tion of  natural  philosophy  did  not  occur  to  him,  not 
even  when  the  boy  hallooed  it  after  him.  He  only  said 
to  himself,  "How  can  that  boy  eat  that  filthy  thing? 
and  he  really  did  look  as  if  he  liked  it  so !" 

Presently,  after  trotting  a  mile  or  so,  he  passed  a 
little  shop  set  all  by  itself  at  the  end  of  a  lane, — surety 
the  tiniest,  loneliest  shop  in  Great  Britain.  But  a 
cheery-looking  old  woman  kept  it,  and  he  saw  it  had 
bread  in  it,  as  well  as  many  other  stuffs,  and  tin  canis- 
terb  that  were  to  him  incomprehensible. 


190  1'HE  LITTLE  EARL. 

**  If  you  please,"  he  said,  rather  timidly,  offering  the 
gold  anchor  off  the  ribbon  of  his  hat,  "  I  have  lost  my 
money,  and  could  you  be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  any 
breakfast  for  this  ?" 

The  old  woman  smelt  the  anchor,  bit  it,  twinkled 
her  eyes,  and  then  drew  a  long  face.  "  It  ain't  worth 
tuppence,  master,"  she  said ;  "  but  ye're  mighty  small 
to  be  out  by  yourself,  and  puny  like :  I  don't  say  as 
how  I  won't  feed  yer." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Bertie,  who  did  not  know  at  all 
what  his  anchor  was  worth. 

"  Come  in  out  o'  dust,"  said  the  old  woman,  smartly, 
and  then  she  bustled  about  and  set  him  down  in  her 
little  den  to  milk,  bread,  and  some  cold  bacon. 

That  he  had  no  appetite  was  the  despair  of  his  people 
and  physician  at  home,  and  cod-liver  oil,  steel,  quinine, 
and  all  manner  of  nastiness  had  been  administered  to 
provoke  hunger  in  him,  with  no  effect :  by  this  time, 
however,  he  had  almost  as  much  hunger  as  the  boy  who 
had  munched  the  turnip. 

Nothing  had  ever  tasted  to  him  half  so  good  in  his 
life. 

The  old  woman  eyed  him  curiously.  "You's  a 
runaway,"  she  thought ;  "  but  I'll  not  raise  the 
cry  after  ye,  or  they'll  come  spying  about  this  bit  o' 
gold." 

She  said  to  herself  that  the  child  would  come  to  no 
harm,  and  when  a  while  had  gone  by  she  would  step 
over  tc  Ryde  or  Newport  and  get  a  guinea  on  the 
br^wch. 

Her  little  general  shop  was  not  a  very  prosperona 
businesri,  thc^ugh  useful  to  the  field-folk ;  and  sanding 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  191 

her  sugar,  and  putting  day  in  her  mustard,  and  addiug 
melted  fat  to  her  butter,  had  not  strengthened  her  moral 
principles. 

As  Bertie  was  eating,  there  came  a  very  thin,  scantily- 
clad,  miserable-looking  woman,  who  held  out  a  half- 
penny. ''  A  sup  o'  milk  for  Susy,  missus,"  she  said,  in 
a  veiy  pitiful  faint  voice. 

"  How  be  Sue  ?"  asked  the  mistress  of  the  shop. 
The  woman  shook  her  head  with  tears  running  dcwn 
her  hollow  cheeks. 

"  My  boy  he's  gone  in  spinney,"  she  murmured,  "  to 
try  and  catch  summat,  if  he  can :  will  you  change  it, 
missus,  if  he  git  a  good  bird  ?" 

The  old  woman  winked,  frowned,  and  glanced  at 
Bertie. 

"  Birds  aren't  good  eatin'  on  fust  of  July,"  she  ob- 
served, as  she  handed  the  milk.  The  woman  paid  the 
halfpenny  and  hurried  away  with  the  milk. 

"I  think  that  woman  is  very  poor,"  said  Bertie^ 
questioningly  and  solemnly. 

The  old  dame  chuckled. 

"  No  doubts  o'  that,  master." 

"  Then  you  are  cruel  to  take  her  money :  you  should 
have  given  her  the  milk." 

"  Ho,  ho,  little  sir !  be  you  a  parson  in  a  gownd  ? 
I'm  mappen  poor  as  she,  and  she  hiv  desarved  all  she 
gits,  for  her  man  he  were  a  poacher,  and  he  died  in  jail 
last  Jannivery." 

"  A  poacher !"  said  Bertie,  with  the  natural  in- 
stinctive horror  of  a  landed  gentleman.  "  And  hei 
80R  was  going  to  snare  a  bird  !"  he  cried,  with  light 
breaking  ia  on  him  ;  "  and  yon  would  give  them  things 


192  THE  LITTLE  EARL 

in  exchange  for  the  bird  I  Oh,  what  a  very  cruel, 
what  a  very  wicked  woman  you  are  I" 

For  an  answer  she  shied  at  him  a  round  wooden 
trencher,  which  missed  its  aim  and  struck  a  basket  of 
eggs  and  smashed  them,  and  one  of  the  panes  of  her 
8hop-window  as  well. 

Bertie  got  up  and  walked  slowly  out  of  the  door, 
keeping  his  eyes  upon  her. 

"  When  I  see  a  magistrate,  I  shall  tell  him  about 
you,"  he  said,  solemnly :  "  you  tempt  poor  people :  that 
is  very  dreadful." 

The  enraged  woman,  in  her  outraged  feelings,  threw 
a  pail  of  dirty  water  after  him,  some  of  which  splashed 
him  and  completed  the  disfigurement  of  his  white  suit. 
He  looked  up  and  down  to  see  for  the  poor  woman  with 
the  milk,  that  he  might  console  her  poverty  and  open 
her  eyes  to  her  sins ;  but  she  was  not  within  sight ;  and 
Bertie  reflected  that  if  he  stopped  to  correct  other 
people's  errors  he  should  never  see  the  world  and  find 
his  kingdom. 

He  had  eaten  a  hearty  meal,  and  his  spirits  rose  and 
his  heart  was  full  of  hope  and  valor;  and  if  he  had 
only  had  Ralph  with  him,  he  would  have  been  quite 
happy. 

So  he  went  away  valorously  across  a  broad  rolling 
down,  and  about  half  a  mile  farther  on  he  came  to  a 
little  shed.  In  the  shed  were  a  fire,  and  a  man,  and  a 
pig ;  in  the  fire  was  an  iron,  and  the  pig  was  tied  by  a 
rope  to  a  ring.  Bertie  saw  the  man  take  the  red-hot 
iron  and  go  up  t3>  the  pig :  Bertie's  face  grew  blanched 
with  horror. 

"Stop,  Slop'  whai*;  are  you  doing  to  the  pig?"  he 


THE  LITTLE  EAR^.  193 

Bcreamed,  as  he  ran  in  to  the  man,  who  looked  up  and 
Btared. 

"I  be  branding  the  pig.  Get  out,  or  I'll  brand 
you !"  he  cried.  Bertie  held  his  ground ;  his  eyes 
were  flashing. 

"  You  wicked,  wicked  man  1  Do  you  not  know  that 
poor  pig  was  made  by  God  ?" 

'*  Dunno,"  said  the  wretch,  with  a  grin.  "  She'll  be 
eat  by  men,  come  Candlemas  1  I  be  marking  of  her, 
'cos  I'll  turn  her  out  on  the  downs  with  t'other.  Git 
out,  youngster !  you've  no  call  here." 

Bertie  planted  himself  firmly  on  his  feet,  and  doubled 
his  little  fists. 

"  I  will  not  see  you  do  such  a  cruelty  to  a  poor  dumb 
thing,"  he  said,  while  he  grew  white  as  death,  "  /  vnU 
not" 

The  man  scowled  and  yet  grinned. 

"  Will  you  beat  me,  little  Hop-o'-my-thumb  ?" 

Bertie  put  himself  before  the  poor  black  pig,  who 
was  squealing  from  mere  fright  and  the  scorch  of  the 
fire. 

"  You  shall  not  get  the  pig  without  killing  me  first. 
You  are  a  cruel  man." 

The  man  grew  angry. 

"  Tell  you  what,  youngster :  I've  a  mind  to  try  the 
jumping-irons  on  you  for  your  impudence.  You  look 
like  a  drowned  white  kitten.  Clear  off,  if  you  don't 
want  to  taste  something  right  red  hot." 

Bertie's  whole  body  grew  sick,  but  he  did  not  move 
and  he  did  not  quail. 

"  I  would  rather  you  dir*  it  to  me  than  to  this  poor 
thing,"  he  answered. 
U 


194  ^^^   LITTLE  EARL. 

"  I'm  blowed !"  said  the  man,  relaxing  his  wrath 
from  sheer  amazement.  "  Well,  you're  a  good  plucked 
one,  you  are." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Bertie,  a  little 
haughtily ;  "  but  you  shall  not  hurt  the  pig." 

"  Darn  me !"  yelled  the  man  ;  "  I'll  burn  you,  sure 
as  you  live,  if  you  don't  kneel  on  your  bare  bones  and 
beg  my  pardon." 

''  I  will  not  do  that." 

"  You  won't  beg  my  pardon  for  cheeking  me  ?" 

"  No  :  you  are  a  Avicked  man." 

Bertie's  eyes  closed ;  he  grew  faint ;  he  fully  believed 
that  in  another  instant  he  would  feel  the  hissing  fire 
of  the  brand.     But  he  did  not  yield. 

The  man's  hand  dropped  to  his  side. 

"  You  are  a  plucked  one,"  he  said,  once  more. 
**  Lord,  child,  it  was  a  joke.  You're  such  a  rare  game 
un,  to  humor  yon,  there,  I'll  let  the  crittur  go  without 
marking  her.  But  you're  a  rare  little  fool,  if  you're 
uot  an  angel  down  from  on  high." 

Bertie's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  held  his  hand  out 
royally  to  be  kissed,  as  he  was  used  to  do  at  Avillion. 

The  big,  black-looking  man  crushed  it  in  his  own 
brown  paw. 

"  My  1  you're  a  game  un  I"  he  muttered,  with 
wonder  and  awe. 

"  And  you  will  never,  never,  never  burn  pigs  any 
more?"  said  Bertie,  searching  his  face  with  his  own 
serious  large  eyes. 

'^  I'll  ne'er  brand  this  un,"  said  the  man,  with  a 
shamefaced  laugh.  "Lord,  little  sir,  you're  the  first 
ns  ever  got  as  much  as  that  out  of  me !" 


TEE  LITTLE  EARL.  195 

"  But  you  never  must  do  it,"  said  Bertie,  soleniuiy. 
"  It  is  wicked  of  you,  and  God  is  angry ;  and  it  is 
very  mean  for  you,  such  a  big  man  and  so  strong, 
to  hurt  a  defenceless  dumb  thing.  You  must  never 
do  it." 

"  What  is  your  name,  little  master  ?"  said  the  big 
man,  humbly. 

"  They  call  me  Avillion." 

"  William  ?  Then  I'll  say  William  all  the  days  of 
my  life  at  my  prayers  o'  Sundays,"  said  the  man,  with 
some  emotion,  and  murmured  to  himself,  "  Such  a  game 
un  I  never  seed." 

"  Thanks  very  much,"  said  Bertie,  gently,  and  then 
he  lifted  his  hat  politely,  and  went  out  of  the  shed 
before  the  man  could  recover  from  his  astonishment. 
When  the  little  Earl  looked  back,  he  saw  the  giant 
pouring  water  on  the  fire,  and  the  pig  was  loose. 

"  I  was  afraid,"  thought  Bertie.  "  But  he  should 
have  burnt  me  all  up  every  bit :  I  never  would  have 
given  in." 

And  something  seemed  to  say  in  his  ear,  "The 
loveliest  thing  in  all  the  world  is  courage  that  goes 
hand  in  hand  with  mercy ;  and  these  two  together  can 
work  miracles,  like  magicians." 

By  this  time  Bertie,  except  for  a  certain  inalienable 
grace  and  refinement  that  were  in  his  little  face  and 
figure,  had  few  marks  of  a  young  gentleman.  His 
Bnowy  serge  was  smirched  and  stained  with  black- 
berries ;  his  red  stockings,  from  the  sea-water  and  the 
ti eld-mud,  had  none  of  their  original  color ;  his  hat 
had  b'^en  bent  and  crumpled  by  his  fall,  and  his  hair 
was  rough      Nobody  passing  him  could  have  dreamt 


196  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

that  tlis  sorry  wanderer  was  a  little  earl.  Neverthe- 
less, when  he  had  been  dressed  in  bis  little  court  suit 
and  had  been  taken  to  see  the  queen  once  at  Balmoral, 
he  had  never  been  a  quarter  so  proud  nor  a  tenth  part 
BO  happy.  He  longed  to  meet  Cromwell,  and  Eichard 
the  Third,  and  Gessler,  and  Nero.  He  began  to  feel 
like  all  the  knights  he  had  ever  read  of,  and  those 
were  many. 

Presently  he  saw  a  little  maiden  weeping.  She  was 
an  ugly  little  maiden,  with  a  shock  head  of  red  hair, 
and  a  wide  mouth,  and  a  brickdust  skin  ;  but  she  was 
crying.  In  his  present  heroic  mood,  he  could  not  pass 
her  by  unconsoled. 

"  Little  girl,  why  do  you  cry  ?"  he  said,  stopping  in 
the  narrow  green  lane. 

She  looked  at  him  out  of  a  sharp  little  eye,  and  her 
face  puckered  up  afresh. 

"  I'se  going  to  schule,  little  master  I" 

"To  school,  do  you  mean?  And  why  does  that 
make  you  cry  ?     Can  you  read  ?" 

"  Naw,"  said  the  maiden,  and  sobbed  loudly. 

"  Then  why  are  you  not  glad  to  go  and  learn  ?"  said 
Bertie,  in  his  superior  wisdom. 

"  There's  naebody  to  do  nowt  at  home,"  said  the  red- 
haired  one,  with  a  howl.  "Mother's  abed  sick,  and 
Tam's  hurt  his  leg,  and  who'll  mind  baby?  He'll 
tumble  the  kittle  o'er  hisself,  I  know  he  will,  and 
he'll  be  scalt  to  death,  '11  baby !" 

"  Dear,  dear  I"  said  Bertie,  sympathetically.  "  But 
why  do  y©u  go  to  school  then  ?" 

"'Cos  I  isn't  thirteen,"  sobbed  the  shock-haired 
nymph:  **l'He  onl/  ten.     And  daddy  was  had  up  las 


'LITTLE   SIRL,  WHY  DO  YOU    CRY?"  HE  SAID 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  197 

week  and  pit  in  prison  'cos  he  kept  me  at  liome.     And 
if  I  ain't  at  home,  who'll  mind  baby,  and  who'll  bile 

the  taters,  and  who'll ?     Oh,  how  I  wish  I  was 

thirteen !" 

Bertie  did  not  understand.  He  had  never  heard  of 
the  School  Board. 

"  What  does  your  father  do  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Works  i'  brick-field.  All  on  us  work  i'  brick- 
field. I  can  take  baby  to  brick-field ;  he  sit  in  the 
clay  beautiful,  but  they  awn't  let  me  take  him  to 
schule,  and  he'll  be  scalt,  I  know  he'll  be  scalt.  He'll 
allers  get  a-nigh  the  kittle  if  he  can." 

"  But  it  is  very  shocking  not  to  know  how  to  read," 
said  the  little  Earl,  very  gravely.  "You  should  have 
learned  that  as  soon  as  you  could  speak.     I  did." 

"Maybe  yours  aren't  brick-field  folk,"  said  the  little 
girl,  stung  by  her  agony  to  sarcasm.  "  I've  allera  had 
a  baby  to  mind,  ever  since  I  toddled ;  first  'twas  Tam, 
and  tlien  'twas  Dick,  and  now  'tis  this  un.  I  dunno 
want  to  read  ;  awn't  make  bricks  a-readin'." 

"Oh,  but  you  will  learn  such  beautiful  things,"  said 
Bertie.  "  I  do  think,  you  know,  that  you  ought  to  go 
to  school." 

"So  the  gemman  said  as  pit  dad  in  th'  lock-up,"  said 
the  recalcitrant  one,  doggedly.  "  Butiful  things  aren't 
o'  much  count,  sir,  when  one's  belly's  empty.  I  oodn't 
go  to  the  blackguds  now,  if  'tweren't  as  poor  dad  saye 
as  how  I  must,  'cos  they  lock  him  up." 

It  seems  very  hard  to  lock  him  up,"  said  Bertie, 
witn  increasing  sympathy ;  "  and  I  think  you  ought  to 
obey  him  and  go.  I  will  see  if  I  can  find  the  baby. 
Where  do  you  live?" 


198  THE  LITTLE  EARL  f 

She  pointed  vaguely  over  the  copses  and  pastures : 
"  Go  on  a  mile,  and  you'll  see  Jim  Bracken's  cottage ; 
but,  Lord  love  you !  you'll  ne'er  manage  baby." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Bertie,  sweetly.  His  fancy  as  well 
as  his  charity  was  stirred ;  for  he  had  never,  that  he 
knew  of,  seen  a  baby.  "  But  indeed  you  should  go  to 
school." 

"  I'm  a-going,"  said  the  groaning  and  blowsy  hero- 
ine with  a  last  sob,  and  then  she  set  off  running  as 
quickly  as  a  pair  of  her  father's  boots,  ten  times  too 
large,  allowed  her,  her  slate  and  her  books  making  a 
loud  clatter  as  she  struggled  on  her  way. 

He  was  by  this  time  very  tired,  for  he  was  not  used 
to  such  long  walks ;  but  curiosity  and  compassion  put 
fresh  spirit  into  his  heart,  and  his  small  legs  pegged 
valorously  over  the  rough  ground,  the  red  stockings 
and  the  silver  buckles  becoming  by  this  time  much 
begrimed  with  mud. 

He  knocked  at  one  cottage  door,  arid  saw  only  a 
very  cross  old  woman,  who  flourished  a  broom  at  him. 

"  No,  it  bean't  Jim  Bracken's.  Get  you  gone  I — -yoa 
look  like  a  runaway." 

Now,  a  runaway  he  was ;  and,  as  truth  when  we  are 
guilty  is  always  even  as  a  two-edged  sword,  Bertie 
colored  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and  bolted  off  as 
fast  as  he  could  to  the  only  other  cottage  visible,  be- 
yond a  few  acres  of  mangel-wurzel  and  all  the  lucem 
family,  which  the  little  Earl  fancied  were  shamrocks. 
For  he  was  far  on  in  Euclid,  could  speak  German  well, 
and  could  spell  through  Tacitus  fairly,  but  about  the 
flowerb  of  the  field  and  the  grasses  no  one  had  ever 
thought  it  worth  while  to  tell  him  anything  at  alL 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  199 

Indeed,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  do  not  think  his  tutors 
knew  anything  about  them  themselves. 

This  other  cottage  was  so  low,  so  covered  up  in  its 
broken  thatch,  which  in  turn  was  covered  with  lichen, 
and  was  so  tumble-down  and  sorrowful-looking,  that 
Bertie  thought  it  was  a  ruined  cow-shed.  However, 
it  stood  where  the  school-girl  had  pointed :  so  he  took 
his  courage  in  both  hands,  as  we  say  in  French,  and 
advanced  to  it.  The  rickety  door  stood  open,  and  he 
saw  a  low  miserable  bed  with  a  miserable  woman  lying 
on  it ;  a  shock-headed  boy  sprawled  on  the  floor,  an- 
other crouched  before  a  fire  of  brambles  and  sods,  and 
between  the  legs  of  this  last  boy  was  a  strange,  uncouth, 
shapeless  object,  which,  but  for  the  fact  that  it  wa8 
crying  loudly,  never  would  have  appeared  to  his  as- 
tonished eyes  as  the  baby  for  whom  was  ]irophesied  a 
tragic  and  early  end  by  the  kettle.  The  boy  who  had 
this  object  in  charge  stared  with  two  little  round  eyes. 

"  Mamsey,  there's  a  young  gemman,"  he  said,  in  an 
awed  voice. 

Bertie  took  oif  his  hat,  and  went  into  the  room  with 
his  prettiest  grace. 

"  If  you  please,  are  you  very  ill  ?"  he  said,  in  his 
little  soft  voice,  to  the  woman  in  bed.  "  I  met — 1 
met — a  little  girl  who  was  so  anxious  about  the  baby, 
and  I  said  I  would  come  and  see  if  I  could  be  of  any 
use " 

The  woman  raised  herself  on  one  elbow,  and  looked 
at  him  w'th  eager,  haggard  eyes. 

"  Lord,  little  sir,  there's  naught  to  be  done  for  us ; 
— leaitways,  unless  you  had  a  shillin'  or  two " 

"  1  nave  no  money,"  murmured  Bertie,  feeling  verj 


200  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

unliKe  a  little  earl  in  that  moment.  The  woman  gave 
a  weary  angry  sigh  and  sank  back  indifferent. 

"  Can  I  do  nothing  ?"  said  Bertie,  wistfully. 

"  By  golly !"  said  the  boy  on  the  floor,  "  unless  you've 
got  a  few  coppers,  little  master " 

"  Coppers  ?"  repeated  the  little  Earl. 

"  Pence,"  said  the  boy,  shortly ;  then  the  baby  began 
to  howl,  and  the  boy  shook  it. 

"Do  please  not  make  it  scream  so,"  said  Bertie. 
"  That  is  what  you  call  the  baby,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Iss,"  said  the  boy  Dick,  sullenly.  "  This  here's 
baby,  cuss  him  I  and  what  bisness  be  he  of  yourn  ?" 

For  interference  without  coppers  to  follow  was  a 
barren  intruder  that  he  was  disposed  to  resent. 

"  I  thought  I  could  amuse  him,"  said  Bertie,  timidly. 
"  I  told  your  sister  I  would." 

Dick  roared  into  loud  guffaws. 

"  Baby'd  kick  you  into  middle  o'  next  week,  you 
poor  little  puny  spindle-shanks  1"  said  this  rude  boy ) 
and  Bertie  felt  that  he  was  very  rude,  though  he  had 
no  idea  what  was  meant  by  spindle-shanks. 

The  other  boy,  who  was  lying  on  his  stomach, — a 
Badly  empty  little  stomach, — here  reversed  his  position 
and  stared  up  at  Bertie. 

"  I  think  you're  a  kind  little  gemman,"  he  said, 
"  and  Dick's  cross  'cos  he's  broke  his  legs,  and  we've 
had  no  vittles  since  yesternoou,  and  only  a  sup  o'  tea 
Peg  made  afore  she  went,  and  mother's  main  bad,  that 
she  be." 

And  tears  rolled  down  this  gentler  little  lad's  dirty 
eheeka 

"  Oh,  dear,  what  shall  I  do  ?"  said  Bertie,  with  a 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  201 

sigh :  if  he  had  only  had  the  money  and  the  watcli 
that  had  fallen  into  the  sea !  He  looked  round  him 
and  felt  very  sick  ;  it  was  all  so  dirty,  so  dirty  ! — and 
he  had  never  seen  dirt  before;  and  the  place  smelt 
very  close  and  sour,  and  the  children's  clothes  were 
mere  rags,  and  the  woman  was  all  skin  and  bone,  on 
her  wretched  straw  bed ;  and  the  unhappy  baby  was 
screaming  loudly  enough  to  be  heard  right  across  the 
sea  to  the  French  coast. 

"  Baby,  poor  baby,  don't  cry  so  !"  said  Bertie,  very 
softly,  and  he  dangled  the  ends  of  his  red  sash  before 
its  tearful  eyes,  and  shook  them  up  and  down  :  the  at- 
tention of  the  baby  was  arrested,  it  ceased  to  howl,  and 
put  out  its  hands,  and  began  to  laugh  instead  !  Bertie 
was  very  proud  of  his  success,  and  even  the  sullen  Dick 
muttered,  "  Well,  I  never  I" 

The  little  Earl  undid  his  scarf  and  let  the  baby  pull 
it  towards  itself.     Dick's  eyes  twinkled  greedily. 

"  Master,  that'd  sell  for  summat !" 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  sell  it,"  said  the  little  Earl, 
eagerly.  "  It  Ls  to  amuse  the  poor  baby.  And  what 
pretty  big  eyes  he  has  1  how  he  laughs  1" 

"  Your  shoes  'ud  sell,"  muttered  Dick. 

"  Dick !  don't,  Dick  !  that's  begging,"  muttered  Tam, 
Bertie  stared  in  surprise.  To  sell  his  shoes  seemed  as 
odd  as  to  be  asked  to  sell  his  hair  or  his  hands.  The 
woman  opened  her  fading,  glazing  eyes. 

"  They're  honest  boys,  little  sir :  you'll  pardon  of 
'em;  they've  eat  nothing  since  yesternoon,  and  then 
'twaa  only  a  aarrot  or  two,  and  boys  is  main  hungry." 

"  And  nave  you  nothing?"  said  Bertie,  aghast  at  the 
misery  in  this  unknown  world. 


202  THE  LITTLE  EARL 

"  How'd  we  have  anything  ?"  said  the  sick  woman, 
grimly.  "  They Ve  locked  up  my  man,  and  Peg's  sent 
to  school  while  we  starve ;  and  nobody  earns  nothin', 
for  Dick's  broke  his  leg,  and  I've  naught  in  my  breaste 
for  baby " 

"But  would  not  somebody  you  work  for — or  the 
priest — ?"  began  Bertie. 

"  Passon  don't  do  nowt  for  us, — my  man's  a  Meth- 
ody ;  and  at  brick-field  they  don't  mind  us ;  if  we  be 
there,  well  an'  good, — we  work  and  get  paid ;  and  if 
we  isn't  there,  well — some  un  else  is.  That's  all." 
Then  she  sank  back,  gasping. 

Bertie  stood  woe-begone  and  perplexed. 

"  Did  you  say  my  shoes  would  sell  ?"  he  murmured, 
very  miserably,  his  mind  going  back  to  the  history  of 
St.  Martin  and  the  cloak. 

Dick  brightened  up  at  once. 

"  Master,  I'll  get  three  shillin'  on  'em,  maybe  more, 
down  in  village  yonder." 

"  You  mus'n't  take  the  little  gemman's  things,"  mur- 
mured the  mother,  feebly ;  but  faiutness  was  stealing 
on  her,  and  darkness  closing  over  her  sight. 

"  Three  shillings  I"  said  Bertie,  who  knew  very  little 
of  the  value  of  shillings ;  "  that  seems  very  little  1  I 
think  they  cost  sovereigns.  Could  you  get  a  loaf  of 
bread  with  three  shillings  ?" 

"Gu-r-r-rl"  grinned  Dick,  and  Bertie  understood 
that  the  guttural  sound  meant  assent  and  rapture. 

"  But  I  cannot  walk  without  shoes." 

"  Walk !  yah  1  ye'U  walk  better.  We  niver  have  do 
«hoe8  •"  said  Dick 

"  Don't,  you,  really  f* 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  203 

"  Golly  !  no !  Ye'll  walk  ten  times  finer ;  ye  won't 
trip,  nor  stumble,  nor  nothin',  and  ye'll  run  as  fast 
again." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  shall  not,"  murmured  Bertie,  and  he  waa 
going  to  say  that  he  would  be  ashamed  to  be  seen  with- 
out shoes,  only  he  remembered  that^  as  these  boys  had 
none,  that  would  not  be  kind.  A  desperate  misery 
came  over  him  at  the  thought  of  being  shoeless,  but 
then  he  reasoned  with  himself,  "  To  give  was  no 
charity  if  it  cost  you  nothing :  did  not  the  saints  strip 
themselves  to  the  uttermost  shred  for  the  poor  ?" 

He  stooped  and  took  off  his  shoes  with  the  silver 
buckles  on  them,  and  placed  them  hastily  on  the  floor. 

"  Take  them,  if  they  will  get  you  bread,"  he  said, 
with  the  color  mounting  in  his  face. 

Dick  seized  them  with  a  yell  of  joy.  "  Tarnation 
that  I  can't  go  mysel'.  Here,  Tarn,  run  quick  and  sell 
'em  to  old  Nan ;  and  get  bread,  and  meat,  and  potatoes, 
and  milk  for  baby,  and  Lord  knows  what;  p'raps  a  gill 
of  gin  for  mammy." 

"  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  rob  little  master, 
Dick,"  murmured  little  Tam.  His  brother  hurled  a 
crutch  at  him,  and  Tam  snatched  up  the  pretty  shoes 
and  fled. 

"  My  blazes,  sir,"  said  Dick,  with  rather  a  shame- 
faced look,  "  if  you'd  a  beast  like  a  lot  of  fire  gnawing 
at  your  belly  all  night  lon^,  yer  wouldn't  stick  at  nowt 
to  get  bread." 

Bertie  only  imperfectly  comprehended.  The  baby, 
tired  of  the  sash,  began  to  cry  again ;  and  Dick,  grown 
jjood-natured,  danced  it  up  and  down. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?"  said  Bertie. 


204  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

"  Nigh  on  eight,"  said  Dick. 

"  Dear  me  V  sighed  the  little  Earl;  this  rough,  mas- 
terful, coarse-tongued  boy  seemed  like  a  grown  man  t« 
him. 

"  You  won't  split  on  us  ?"  said  Dick,  sturdily. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Bertie. 

"  Not  tell  anybody  you  give  us  the  shoes :  there'd  be 
a  piece  of  work." 

"  As  if  one  told  when  one  did  any  kindness !"  mur- 
mured Bertie,  with  a  disgust  he  could  not  quite  conceal. 
"  I  mean,  when  one  does  one's  duty." 

"  But  what'll  you  gammon  'em  with  at  home  ? — 
they'll  want  to  know  what  you've  done  with  your 
shoes." 

"  I  am  not  going  home,"  said  the  little  Earl,  and 
there  was  a  something  in  the  way  he  spoke  that  silenced 
Dick's  tongue, — which  he  would  have  called  his  clap- 
per. 

"  What  in  the  world  be  the  little  swell  arter  ?" 
thought  Dick. 

Bertie  meanwhile,  with  some  awe  and  anxiety,  was 
watching  the  livid  face  of  the  sick  woman :  he  had 
never  seen  illness  or  death,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  was  very  ill  indeed. 

"  Are  you  not  anxious  about  your  mother  ?"  he  asked 
of  the  rough  boy. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick,  sulkily,  with  the  water  coming 
in  his  eyes.  "Dad's  in  the  lock-up:  that's  wuas  still, 
young  sir." 

"  Not  worse  than  death,"  i^d  Bertie,  solemnly.  "  He 
W'W  come  back." 

"  Oh,  she'll  oome  round  with  a  drop  of  gin  and  a  sup 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  205 

of  trotli,"  said  Dick,  confidently.    "  'Tis  all  hunger  and 
frettin',  hers  is." 

"  I  am  glad  I  gave  my  shoes,"  thought  Bertie. 
Then  there  was  a  long  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
hissing  of  the  green  brambles  on  the  fire  and  the  yelps 
of  the  baby. 

*'  Maybe,  sir,"  said  Dick,  after  a  little,  "  you'd  put 
the  saucepan  on?  I  can't  move  with  this  here  leg. 
If  you'd  pit  some  water  out  o'  kittle  in  him,  he'll  be 
ready  for  cookin'  when  the  vittles  come." 

"  I  will  do  tliat,"  said  Bertie,  cheerfully,  and  he  set 
the  saucepan  on  by  lifting  it  with  both  hands :  it  was 
very  black,  and  its  crock  came  off  on  his  knicker- 
bockers. Then,  by  Dick's  directions,  he  found  a  pair 
of  old  wooden  bellows,  and  blew  on  the  sticks  and 
sods ;  but  this  he  managed  so  ill  that  Dick  wriggled 
himself  along  the  floor  closer  to  the  fire  and  did  it 
himself. 

"  You're  a  gaby  I"  he  said  to  his  benefactor. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  said  Bertie. 

But  Dick  felt  that  it  was  more  prudent  not  to  ex- 
plain. 

In  half  an  hour  Tarn  burst  into  the  room,  breathless 
and  joyous,  his  scruples  having  disappeared  under  the 
basket  he  bore. 

"  She  gived  me  five  shillin'  1"  he  shouted  ;  "  and  I's 
sure  they^s  wuth  a  deal  more,  'cos  her  eyes  twinkled 
and  winked,  and  she  shoved  me  a  peg-top  in  !" 

"  Gi^  us  o't  I"  shrieked  Dick,  in  an  agony  at  being 
bound  to  the  floor  with  all  these  good  things  before  his 
sight. 

Little  Tarn,  who  waa  very  loyal,  laid  them  all  out 


206  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

on  the  ground  before  his  elder :  two  quartern  loaves, 
two  pounds  of  beef,  onions,  potatoes,  a  bit  of  bacon, 
and  a  jug  of  milk. 

Dick  poured  some  milk  into  an  old  tin  mug,  and 
handed  it  roughly  to  Bertie. 

"Feed  the  baby,  will  yer,  whiles  Tam  and  me 
cooks?" 

The  little  Earl  took  the  can,  and  advanced  to  the 
formidable  bundle  of  rags,  who  was  screaming  like  a 
very  hoarse  raven. 

"  I  think  you  should  attend  to  your  mother  first," 
he  said,  gently,  as  the  baby  made  a  grab  at  the  little 
tin  pot,  the  look  of  which  it  seemed  to  know,  and 
shook  half  tlie  milk  over  itself. 

"  Poor  mammy  !"  said  Tam,  who  was  gnawing  a  bit 
of  bread ;  and,  with  his  bread  in  one  hand,  he  got  up 
and  put  a  little  gin  and  water  quite  hot  between  his 
mother's  lips.  She  swallowed  it  without  opening  her 
eyes  or  seeming  to  be  conscious,  and  Tam  climbed  down 
from  the  bed  again  with  a  clear  conscience. 

"  We'll  gie  her  some  broth,"  he  said,  manfully, 
while  he  and  Dick,  munching  bread  and  raw  bacon, 
tumbled  the  beef  in  a  lump  into  the  saucepan,  drowned 
in  water  with  some  whole  onions,  in  the  common 
fashion  of  cottage-cooking.  The  baby,  meanwhile,  was 
placidly  swallowing  the  milk  that  the  little  Earl  held 
for  it  very  carefully,  and,  when  that  was  done,  accepted 
a  crust  til  at  he  offered  it  to  suck. 

The  two  boys  were  crouching  before  the  crackling 
fire,  munching  voraciously,  and  watching  the  boiling 
of  the  old  black  pot.  They  had  quite  forgotten  thoir 
benefartor. 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  207 

"My!  What'll  Peg  say  when  she's  to  home?" 
chuckled  Tain. 

"  She'll  say  that  she'd  ha'  cooked  better,"  growled 
Dick.     "  Golly  !  ain't  the  fat  good  ?" 

Bertie  stood  aloof,  pleased,  and  yet  sorrowful  because 
they  did  not  notice  him. 

Even  the  baby  had  so  completely  centred  its  mind 
in  the  crust  that  it  had  abandoned  all  memory  of  the 
red  scarf. 

Bertie  looked  on  a  little  while,  but  no  one  seemed  to 
remember  him.  The  boys'  eyes  were  glowing  on  the 
saucepan,  and  their  cheeks  were  filled  out  with  food  as 
the  cherubs  in  his  chapel  at  home  were  puffed  out  with 
air  as  they  blew  celestial  trumpets. 

He  went  to  the  door  slowly,  looked  back,  and  then 
retreated  into  the  sunshine. 

"  It  would  be  mean  to  put  them  in  mind  of  me,"  he 
thought,  as  he  withdrew. 

Suddenly  a  sharp  pain  shot  through  him :  a  stone 
had  cut  his  unshod  foot. 

"  Oh,  dear  me !  how  ever  shall  I  walk  without  any 
shoes  or  boots !"  he  thought,  miserably ;  and  he  was 
very  nearly  bursting  out  crying. 

On  the  edge  of  these  fields  was  a  wood, — a  low, 
dark,  rolling  wood, — which  looked  to  the  little  Earl, 
who  missed  his  own  forests,  inviting  and  cool  and 
sweet.  By  this  time  it  was  getting  towards  noon,  and 
the  sun  was  hot,  and  he  felt  thirsty  and  very  tired. 
He  was  sad,  too :  he  was  glad  to  have  satisfied  those 
poor  hungry  children,  but  their  indifference  to  him 
when  they  were  satisfied  was  chilling  and  melancholy. 

"  But  then  we  ought  not  to  do  a  kindness  that  we 


208  THE  LITTLE  EARl.. 

may  be  thanked,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It  is  a  proper 
punishment  to  me,  because  I  wished  to  be  thanked, 
which  was  mean." 

So  he  settled,  as  he  usually  did,  that  it  was  all  his 
own  fault. 

Plappily  for  him,  the  ground  was  soft  with  summer 
dust,  and  so  he  managed  to  get  along  the  little  path 
that  ran  from  the  cottage  through  the  lucern-fields, 
and  from  there  the  path  became  grass,  which  was  still 
less  trying  to  his  little  red  stockings. 

Yet  he  was  anxious  and  troubled;  he  felt  heavily 
weighted  for  his  battle  with  the  world  without  any 
shoes  on,  and  he  felt  he  must  look  ridiculous.  For  the 
first  time,  St.  Martin  did  not  seem  to  him  so  very 
much  of  a  hero,  because  St.  Martin's  gift  was  only  a 
cloak.  Besides,  without  his  sash,  the  band  of  his 
knickerbockers  could  be  seen ;  and  he  was  afraid  this 
was  indecent. 

Nevertheless,  he  went  on  bravely,  if  lamely.  Believe 
me,  nothing  sets  the  world  more  straight  than  thinking 
that  what  is  awry  in  it  is  one's  self. 

The  wood,  which  was  a  well-known  spinney  famous 
for  pheasants,  was  reached  before  very  long,  though 
with  painful  effort.  It  was  chiefly  composed  of  old 
hawthorn-trees  and  blackthorn,  with  here  and  there  a 
larch  or  holly.  The  undergrowth  was  thick,  and  the 
sunbeams  were  playing  at  bo-peep  with  the  shadows. 
Far  away  over  the  fields  and  thorns  was  a  glimmer  of 
blue  water,  and  close  around  were  all  manner  of  ferns, 
of  foxgloves,  of  grasses,  of  boughs.  The  tired  little 
Earl  sank  downward  under  one  of  the  old  thorns  with 
feet  that  bled.     A  wasp  had  stung  him,  too,  through 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  209 

hia  stocking,  and  the  stung  place  was  smarting  furiously. 
"  But  how  much  more  Christ  and  the  saints  suffered !" 
thought  Bertie,  serioasly  and  piously,  without  the 
smallest  touch  of  vanity. 

Lying  on  the  mass  under  all  that  greenery,  he  felt 
refreshed  and  soothed,  although  the  foot  the  wasp  had 
stung  throbbed  a  good  deal. 

There  were  all  sorts  of  pretty  things  to  see:  the 
pheasants,  who  were  lords  of  the  manor  till  October 
came  round,  did  not  mind  him  in  the  least,  and  swept 
smoothly  by  with  their  long  tails  like  court  mantles 
sweeping  the  grass.  Blackbirds,  those  cheeriest  of  all 
birds,  pecked  at  worms  and  grubs  quite  near  him. 
Chaffinches  were  looking  for  hairs  under  the  brambles 
to  make  their  second  summer  nest  with.  Any  hairs 
serve  their  purpose, — cows',  horses',  or  dogs' ;  and  if 
they  get  a  tuft  of  hare-skin  or  rabbit-fur  they  are 
furnished  for  the  year.  A  pair  of  little  white-throats 
were  busy  in  a  low  bush,  gathering  the  catch- weed  that 
grew  thickly  there,  and  a  goldfinch  was  flying  away 
with  a  lock  of  sheep's  wool  in  his  beak.  There  were 
other  charming  creatures,  too :  a  mole  was  hurrying  to 
his  underground  castle,  a  nuthatch  was  at  work  on  a 
rotten  tree-trunk,  and  a  gray,  odd-looking  bird  was 
impaling  a  dead  field-mouse  on  one  of  the  thorn- 
branches.  Bertie  did  not  know  that  this  gentleman 
was  but  the  gray  shrike,  once  used  in  hawking ;  indeed, 
he  did  not  know  the  names  or  habits  of  any  of  the 
birds ;  and  he  lay  still  hidden  in  the  ferns,  and  watched 
them  with  delight  and  mute  amazement.  There  were 
thousands  ci*  such  pretty  creatures  in  his  own  woods 
and  brakes  at  home,  but  then  he  was  never  alone :  h(? 
14 


210  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

was  always  either  walking  with  Father  Philip  or  riding 
with  AYilliain,  and  in  neither  case  was  he  allowed  to 
stop  and  loiter  and  lie  in  the  grass,  and  the  sonorous 
voice  of  the  priest  scattered  these  timid  dwellers  in  the 
greenwood  as  surely  as  did  the  tread  of  the  pony^s 
hoofs  and  the  barking  of  Ralph. 

"  When  I  am  a  man  I  will  pass  all  my  life  out  of 
doors,  and  I  will  get  friends  with  all  these  pretty 
things,  and  ask  them  what  they  are  doing,"  he  thought; 
and  he  was  so  entranced  in  this  new  world  hidden  away 
under  the  low  hawthorn  boughs  of  this  spinney  that  he 
quite  forgot  he  had  lost  his  shoes  and  did  not  know 
where  he  would  sleep  when  night  came.  He  had  quite 
forgotten  his  own  existence,  indeed ;  and  this  is  just 
the  happiness  that  comes  to  us  always,  when  we  learn 
to  love  the  winged  and  four-footed  brethren  that 
Nature  has  placed  so  near  us,  and  whom,  alas !  we  so 
shamefully  neglect  when  we  do  not  do  even  worse  and 
persecute  them.  Bertie  was  quite  oblivious  that  he 
was  a  runaway,  who  had  started  with  a  very  fine  idea 
or  finding  out  who  it  was  that  kept  him  in  prison,  and 
giving  him  battle  wherever  he  might  be :  he  was  much 
more  interested  in  longing  to  know  what  the  great  gray 
shrike  was,  and  why  it  hung  up  the  mouse  on  the  thorn 
and  flew  away.  If  you  do  not  know  any  more  than 
he  did,  I  may  tell  you  that  the  shrikes  are  like  your 
father,  and  like  their  game  when  it  has  been  many 
days  in  the  larder.  It  is  one  of  the  few  ignoble  tastes 
in  which  birds  resemble  mankind. 

The  shrike  fl^w  away  to  look  for  some  more  mice, 
or  frogs,  or  little  snakes,  or  cockroaches,  or  beetles,  for 
he  is  a  very  useful  fellow  indeed  in  the  woods,  though 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  211 

the  keepers  are  usually  silly  and  wicked  enough  to  try 
and  kill  him.  His  home  and  his  young  ones  were 
above  in  the  thicket,  and  he  had  stuck  all  round  their 
nests  insects  of  all  kinds:  still,  he  was  a  provident 
bird,  and  was  of  opinion  that  every  one  should  work 
while  it  is  day. 

When  the  shrike  flew  away  after  a  bumble-bee,  the 
little  Earl  fell  asleep :  what  with  fatigue,  and  excite- 
ment, and  the  heat  of  the  sun,  a  sound,  dreamless 
slumber  fell  upon  him  there  among  the  birds  and  the 
sweet  smell  of  the  May  buds ;  and  the  goldfinch  sang 
to  him,  while  he  slept,  such  a  pretty  song  that  he 
heard  it  though  he  was  so  fa/'t  asleep.  The  goldfinch, 
though,  did  not  sing  for  him  one  bit  in  the  world ;  he 
sang  for  his  wife,  who  was  sitting  among  her  callow 
brood  hidden  away  from  sight  under  the  leaves,  and 
with  no  greater  anxiety  on  her  mind  than  fear  of  a 
possible  weasel  or  rat  gnawing  at  her  nest  from  the 
bottom. 

When  the  little  Earl  awoke,  the  sun  was  not  full 
and  golden  all  about  him  as  it  had  been ;  there  were 
long  shadows  slanting  through  the  spinney,  and  there 
was  a  great  globe  descending  behind  the  downs  of  the 
western  horizon.  It  was  probably  about  six  in  the 
evening.  Bertie  could  not  tell,  for,  unluckily  for  him, 
he  had  always  had  a  watch  to  rely  upon,  and  had  never 
been  taught  to  tell  the  hour  from  the  "shepherd's 
hour-glass"  in  the  field-flowers,  or  calculate  the  time 
of  day  from  the  length  of  the  shadows.  Even  now, 
though  night  was  so  nigh,  the  thought  of  where  he 
should  find  a  bed  did  not  occur  to  him,  for  he  was 
absorbed  in  a  little  boy  who  st^XKi  before  him, — a  very 


212  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

miserable  little  black-haired,  brown-cheeked  boy,  who 
was  staring  hard  at  him. 

"  Now,  he,  I  am  sure,  is  as  poor  as  Dick  and  Tarn," 
thought  the  little  Earl,  "and  I  have  nothing  left  to 
give  him." 

The  little  boy  was  endeavoring  to  hide  behmd  his 
back  a  bright  bundle  of  ruffled  feathers,  and  in  his 
other  hand  he  held  a  complicated  arrangement  of  twine 
and  twigs  with  a  pendent  noose. 

That  Bertie  did  know  the  look  of,  for  he  had  seen 
his  own  keepers  destroy  such  things  in  his  own  woods, 
and  had  heard  them  swear  when  they  did  so.  So  his 
land-owner's  instincts  awoke  in  him,  though  the  land 
was  not  his. 

"  Oh,  little  boy,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  eyes  and 
springing  to  his  feet,  "what  a  wicked,  wicked  little 
boy  you  are !     You  have  been  snaring  a  pheasant  I" 

The  small  boy,  who  was  about  his  age,  looked 
frightened  and  penitent :  he  saw  his  accuser  was  a  little 
gentleman. 

"Please,  sir,  don't  tell  on  me,"  he  said,  with  a 
whimper.  "  I'll  gie  ye  the  bird  if  ye  won't  tell  on 
me." 

"  I  do  not  want  the  bird,"  said  Bertie,  with  magis- 
terial gravity.  "  You  are  a  wicked  little  boy  to  offer 
it  to  me.  It  is  not  your  own,  and  you  have  killed  it. 
You  are  a  ihiefl" 

"  Please,  sir,"  whimpered  the  little  poacher,  "  dad 
alius  tooked  'em  like  this." 

"  Then  he  is  a  thief  too,"  said  Bertie. 

"  He  was  a  good  un  to  me,"  said  the  small  boy,  and 
then  fairly  burst  out  sobbing.     "  He  was  a  good  un  to 


THE  LITTLE  EARL  213 

me,  and  he's  dead  a  year  come  Lady-day,  and  mothei 
she's  main  bad,  and  little  Susie's  got  the  croup,  and 
there's  nowt  to  eat  to  home ;  and  I  hear  Susie  cryin', 
cryin',  cryin',  and  so  I  gae  to  cupboard  where  dad's 
old  tackle  be  kep,  and  I  gits  out  this  here,  and  says  I 
to  myself,  maybe  I'll  git  one  of  them  birds  i'  spinney, 
'cos  they  make  rare  broth,  and  we  had  a  many  on  'em 
when  dad  was  alive,  and  Towser." 

"  Who  was  Towser  ?" 

"  He  was  our  lurcher ;  keeper  shot  him ;  he'd  bring 
of  'era  in  his  mouth  like  a  Chrisen;  and  gin  ye'll  tell 
on  me,  they'll  claj)  me  in  prison  like  they  did  dad,  and 
it's  birch  rods  they'd  give  yer,  and  mother's  nowt  but 
me." 

"  I  do  not  know  who  owns  this  property,"  said  Ber- 
tie, in  his  little  sedate  way,  "  so  I  could  not  tell  the 
owner,  and  I  should  not  wish  to  do  it  if  I  could ;  but 
still  it  is  a  very  wicked  thing  to  snare  birds  at  all,  and 
when  they  are  game-birds  it  is  robbery." 

"  I  know  as  how  they  makes  it  so,"  demurred  the 
poacher's  son.     "  But  dad  said  as  how " 

"No  one  makes  it  so,"  said  Bertie,  with  a  little 
righteous  anger ;  "it  is  so :  the  birds  are  not  yours, 
and  so,  if  you  take  them,  you  are  a  thief." 

The  boy  put  his  thumb  in  his  mouth  and  dangled 
his  dead  pheasant. 

A  discussion  on  the  game-laws  was  beyond  his  pow- 
ers, nor  was  even  Bertie  conscious  of  the  mighty  sub- 
ject he  was  opening,  though  the  instincts  of  the  land- 
owner were  naturally  in  him,  and  it  seemed  to  him  so 
shocking  to  find  a  boy  with  such  views  as  this  as  to 
me^im  and  iuum,  that  he  almost  fancied  the  sun  would 


214  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

fall  from  the  sky.  The  sun,  however,  glowed  on,  low 
down  in  the  wood  beyond  a  belt  of  firs,  and  the  green 
downs,  and  the  gray  sea;  and  the  little  sinner  stood 
before  him,  fascinated  by  his  appearance  and  fright- 
ened at  his  words. 

"Do  you  know  who  owns  this  coppice?"  asked  Ber- 
tie ;  and  the  boy  answered  him,  reluctantly, — 

"Yes:  Sir  Henry." 

"  Then,  what  you  must  do,"  said  Bertie,  "  is  to  go 
directly  with  that  bird  to  Sir  Henry,  and  beg  his  par- 
don, and  ask  him  to  forgive  you.  Go  at  once.  That 
is  what  you  must  do." 

The  boy  opened  eyes  and  mouth  in  amaze. 

"  That  I  won't  never  do,"  he  said,  doggedly :  "  I'd 
be  took  up  to  the  lodge  afore  I'd  open  my  mouth." 

"  Not  if  I  go  with  you,"  said  Bertie. 

"  Be  you  one  of  the  fam'ly,  sir  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Bertie,  and  then  was  silent  in  some  con- 
fusion, for  he  bethought  him  that,  without  any  shoes 
on,  he  might  also  be  arrested  at  the  lodge  gates. 

"I  thought  as  not,  'cos  you're  barefoot,"  said  the 
brown-cheeked  boy,  with  a  little  contempt  supplying 
the  place  of  courage.  "Dunno  who  you  be,  sir,  but 
seems  to  I  as  you've  no  call  to  preach  to  me:  you  be 
a-trespassin'  too." 

Bertie  colored. 

"  I  am  not  doing  any  harm,"  he  said,  with  dignity  ; 
"you  are:  you  have  been  stealing.  If  you  are  not  really 
a  wicked  boy,  you  will  take  the  pheasant  straight  to 
that  gentleman,  and  beg  him  to  forgive  you,  and  I 
dare  say  he  will  give  you  work." 

"  There's  no  work  for  my  dad's  son,"  said  the  little 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  215 

poacher,  half  sadly,  half  sullenly :  "  the  keepers  are  alJ 
agen  us :  'tis  as  much  as  mother  and  me  and  Susie  can 
do  to  git  a  bit  o'  bread." 

"  What  work  can  you  do  ?" 

"  I  can  make  the  gins,"  said  the  little  sinner,  touch- 
ing the  trap  with  pride.  "  Mostwhiles,  I  never  coma 
out  o'  daylight ;  but  all  the  forenoon  Susie  was  going 
off  her  head,  want  o'  summat  t'  eat." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  Susie  and  you,"  said  the  little  Earl, 
with  sympathy.  "But  indeed,  indeed,  nothing  can  ex- 
cuse a  theft,  or  make  God " 

"  The  keepers  I"  yelled  the  boy,  with  a  scream  like 
a  hare's,  and  he  dashed  head-foremost  into  the  bushes, 
casting  on  to  Bertie's  lap  the  gin  and  the  dead  bird. 
Bertie  was  so  surprised  that  he  sat  perfectly  mute  and 
still :  the  little  boy  had  disappeared  as  fast  as  a  rabbit 
bolts  at  sight  of  a  ferret.  Two  grim  big  men  with 
dogs  and  guns  burst  through  the  hawthorn,  and  one 
of  them  seized  the  little  Earl  with  no  gentle  hand. 

"You  little  blackguard!  you'll  smart  for  this,"  yelled 
the  big  man.  "Treadmill  and  birch  rod,  or  I'm  a 
Dutchman." 

Bertie  was  so  surprised,  still,  that  he  was  silent. 
Then,  with  his  little  air  of  innocent  majesty,  he  said, 
simply,  "You  are  mistaken:  I  did  not  kill  the  bird." 

Now,  if  Bertie  had  had  his  usual  nicety  of  apparel, 
or  if  the  keeper  had  not  been  in  a  fuming  fury,  the 
latter  would  have  easily  seen  that  he  had  accused  and 
apprehended  a  little  gentleman.  But  no  one  in  a  vio- 
lent rage  ever  has  much  sense  or  sight  left  to  aid  him, 
and  Big  George,  as  this  keeper  was  called,  did  not 
c/>tice  mat  his  dogs  were  smelKng  in  a  friendlv  way  %it 


216  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

his  prisoner,  but  only  saw  that  he  had  to  do  with  a 
pale-faced  lad  without  shoes,  and  very  untidy  and 
dasty-looking,  who  had  snares  and  a  snared  pheasant 
at  his  feet. 

Before  Bertie  had  even  seen  him  take  a  bit  of  cord 
out  of  his  pocket,  he  had  tied  the  little  Earl's  hands 
behind  him,  picked  up  the  pheasant  and  the  trap, 
and  given  some  directions  to  his  companion.  The 
real  culprit  was  already  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  bur- 
rowing safely  in  the  earth  of  an  old  fox  killed  in 
February, — a  hiding-place  with  which  he  was  very 
familiar. 

Bertie,  meanwhile,  was  quite  silent.  He  was  think- 
ing to  himself,  "If  I  tell  them  another  boy  did  it,  they 
will  go  and  look  for  him,  and  catch  him,  and  put  him 
in  prison ;  and  then  his  mother  and  Susie  will  be  so 
miserable, — more  miserable  than  ever.  I  think  I 
ought  to  keep  quiet.  Jesus  never  said  anything  when 
they  buffeted  him." 

"  Ah,  you  little  gallows-bird,  you'll  get  it  this  time  I" 
said  the  keeper,  knotting  the  string  tighter  about  his 
wrists,  and  speaking  as  if  he  had  had  the  little  Earl 
very  often  in  such  custody. 

"  You  are  a  very  rude  man,"  said  Bertie,  with  the 
angry  color  in  his  cheeks ;  but  Big  George  heeded  him 
not,  being  engaged  in  swearing  at  one  of  his  dogs, — a 
young  one,  who  was  trotting  after  a  rabbit. 

"  I  know  who  this  youngster  is,  Bob,"  he  said  to  his 
companion :  "  he's  the  Radley  shaver  over  from  Black- 
gang." 

Bertie  wondered  who  the  Radley  shaver  was  that 
resembled  him. 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  217 

"  He  has  the  looks  on  him,"  said  the  other,  pru- 
dently. 

"  Sir  Henry's  dining  at  Chigwell  to-night,  and  he'll 
have  started  afore  we  get  there,"  continued  Big  George. 
"  Go  you  on  through  spinney  far  as  Edge  Pool,  and 
I'll  take  and  lock  this  here  Radley  up  till  morning. 
Blast  his  impudence, — a  pheasant !  think  of  the  likes 
of  it !  A  pheasant  I  If  't  had  been  a  rabbit,  't  had 
been  bad  enough." 

Then  he  shook  his  little  captive  vigorously. 

Bertie  did  not  say  anything.  He  was  not  in  trepi- 
dation for  himself,  but  he  was  in  an  agonj  of  fear  lest 
the  other  boy  should  be  found  in  the  spinney. 

"March  along  afore  me,"  said  Big  George,  with 
much  savageness.  "  And  if  you  tries  to  bolt,  I'll  blow 
your  brains  out  and  nail  you  to  a  barn-door  along  o' 
the  owls." 

The  little  Earl  looked  at  him  with  eyes  of  scorn  and 
horror. 

"  How  dare  you  touch  Athene's  bird  ?" 

"  How  dare  I  what,  you  little  saucy  blackguard  ?" 
thundered  Big  George,  and  fetched  him  a  great  box  on 
the  ears  which  made  Bertie  stagger. 

"  You  are  a  vf-ry  bad  man,"  he  said,  breathlessly. 
"  You  are  a  very  mean  man.  You  are  big,  and  so  you 
are  cruel :  that  is  very  mean  indeed." 

"  You've  the  gift  of  the  gab,  little  devil  of  a  Rad- 
ley,"  said  the  keeper,  wrathfully ;  "  but  you'll  pipe 
another  tune  when  you  feel  the  birch  and  pick  oakum." 

Bertie  set  his  teeth  tight  to  keep  his  words  in  :  he 
walked  on  mute 

"  You've  strle  some   little  gemman's  togs  as  well 


218  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

as  my  pheasant,"  said  Big  George,  surveying  him. 
"  Why  didn't  you  steal  a  pair  of  boots  when  you  was 
about  it  ?" 

Bertie  was  still  mute. 

''  I  will  not  say  anything  to  this  bad  man,"  he 
thought,  "  or  else  he  will  find  out  that  it  was  not  I." 

The  sun  had  set  by  this  time,  leaving  only  a  sil- 
very light  above  the  sea  and  the  downs:  the  pale 
long  twilight  of  an  English  day  had  come  upon  the 
earth. 

Bertie  was  very  white,  and  his  heart  beat  fast,  and 
he  was  growing  very  hungry;  but  he  managed  to  stum- 
ble on,  though  very  painfully,  for  his  courage  would 
not  let  him  repine  before  this  savage  man,  who  was 
mixed  up  in  his  mind  with  Bluebeard,  and  Thor,  and 
Croquemitaine,  and  Richard  III.,  and  Nero,  and  all 
the  ogres  that  he  had  ever  met  with  in  his  reading, 
and  who  seemed  to  grow  larger  and  larger  and  larger 
as  the  sky  and  earth  grew  darker. 

Happily  for  his  shoeless  feet,  the  way  lay  all  over 
grass-lands  and  mossy  paths ;  but  he  limped  so  that 
the  keeper  swore  at  him  many  times,  and  the  little 
Earl  felt  the  desperate  resignation  of  the  martyr. 

At  last  they  came  in  sight  of  the  keeper's  cottage, 
standing  on  the  edge  of  the  preserves, — a  thatched  and 
gabled  little  building,  with  a  light  glimmering  in  its 
lattice  window. 

At  the  sound  of  Big  George's  heavy  tread,  a  woman 
and  some  children  ran  out. 

"  Lord  ha'  mercy  !  George  !"  cried  the  wife.  "What 
scarecrov  have  you  been  and  got  ?" 

•  A  Badley  boy,"  growled  George, — "  one  of  thp 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  219 

cussed  Kadley  boys  at  last, — and  a  pheasant  snared 
took  in  his  very  hand  1" 

"  You  don't  mean  it  I"  cried  hig  wife ;  and  the  small 
children  yelled  and  jumped.  "  What'll  be  done  with 
him,  dad  ?"  cried  the  eldest  of  them. 

*'  I'll  put  him  in  fowl-house  to-night,"  said  Big 
George,  "  and  up  he'll  go  afore  Sir  Henry  fust  thing 
to-morrow.  Clear  off,  young  uns,  and  let  me  run  him 
in." 

Bertie  looked  up  in  Big  George's  face. 

"  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  killing  the  bird,"  he  said, 
in  a  firm  though  a  faint  voice.  "  You  quite  mistake. 
I  am  Lord  Avillion." 

"  Stop  your  pipe,  or  I'll  choke  yer,"  swore  Big 
George,  enraged  by  what  he  termed  the  "  darned 
cheek"  of  a  Radley  boy ;  and  without  more  ado  he 
laid  hold  of  the  little  Earl's  collar  and  lifted  him  into 
the  fowl-house,  the  door  of  which  was  held  open 
eagerly  by  his  eldest  girl. 

There  was  a  great  flapping  of  wings,  screeching  of 
hens,  and  piping  of  chicks  at  the  interruption,  where 
all  the  inmates  were  gone  to  roost,  and  one  cock  set  up 
his  usual  salutation  to  the  dawn. 

"  That's  better  nor  you'll  sleep  to-morrow  night," 
said  Big  George,  as  he  tumbled  Bertie  on  to  a  truss 
of  straw  that  lay  there,  when  he  went  out  himself, 
slammed  the  door,  and  both  locked  and  barred  it  on 
the  outside. 

Bertie  fell  back  on  the  straw,  sobbing  bitterly :  his 
feet  were  cut  and  bleeding,  his  whole  body  ached  like 
one  great  bruise,  and  he  was  sick  and  faint  with  hun- 
ger.    "  If  the  world  be  as  difficult  as  this  to  live  in," 


220  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

he  thought,  "how  ever  do  some  people  manage  to  live 
almost  to  a  hundred  years  in  it?"  and  to  his  eight-year- 
old  little  soul  the  prospect  of  a  long  life  seemed  so  hor- 
rible that  he  sobbed  again  at  the  very  thought  of  it.  It 
was  quite  dark  in  the  fowl-house;  the  rustling  and 
fluttering  of  the  poultry  all  around  sounded  mysteri- 
ous and  unearthly;  the  strong,  unpleasant  smell  made 
him  faint,  and  the  pain  in  his  feet  grew  greater  every 
moment.  He  did  not  scream  or  go  into  convulsions; 
he  was  a  brave  little  man,  and  proud ;  but  he  felt  as 
if  the  long,  lonely  night  there  would  kill  him. 

Half  an  hour,  perhaps,  had  gone  by  when  a  woman's 
voice  at  the  little  square  window  said,  softly,  "Here 
is  bread  and  water  for  you,  poor  boy;  and  I've  put 
some  milk  and  cheese,  too,  only  my  man  mustn't  know 
it." 

Bertie  with  great  effort  raised  himself,  and  took  what 
was  pushed  through  the  tiny  window ;  a  mug  of  milk 
being  lowered  to  him  last  by  a  large  red  fat  hand, 
on  which  the  light  of  a  candle  held  without  was  glow- 
ing. 

"Thanks  very  much,"  said  the  little  Earl,  feebly. 
"But,  madam,  I  did  not  kill  that  bird,  and  indeed  I 
am  Lord  Avillion." 

The  good  woman  went  within  to  her  lord,  and  said 
timidly  to  him,  "  George,  are  you  sartin  sure  that  there's 
a  Radley  boy?  He  do  look  and  speak  like  a  little 
gemman,  and  he  do  say  as  how  he  is  one." 

Big  George  called  her  bad  names. 

"  A  barefoot  gemman ! "  he  said,  with  a  sneer.  *'  You 
thunderin'  fool!  it's  weazened-faced  Vic  Eadley,  as 
have  been  in  our  woods  a  hundred  times    if   wunce. 


HE   SHARED    IT  WILLINGLY 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  221 

though  never  could  I  slap  eyes  on  him  quick  enougl) 
to  piu  him." 

The  good  houisewife  took  up  her  stocking-mending 
and  said  no  more.  Big  George's  arguments  were 
sometimes  enforced  with  the  fist,  and  even  with  tho 
pewter  pot  or  the  poker. 

Meanwhile,  the  little  Earl  in  the  hen-house  was  so 
hungry  that  he  drank  the  milk  and  ate  the  bread  and 
cheese.  Both  were  harder  and  rougher  things  than 
any  he  had  ever  tasted ;  but  he  had  now  that  hunger 
which  had  made  the  boy  on  the  stile  relish  the  turnip, 
and,  besides,  another  incident  had  occurred  to  give  him 
relish  for  the  food. 

At  the  moment  when  he  had  sat  down  to  drink  the 
milk,  there  had  tumbled  out  from  behind  the  straw  a 
round  black-and-white  object,  unsteady  on  its  legs,  and 
having  a  very  broad  nose  and  a  very  woolly  coat.  The 
moon  had  risen  by  this  time,  and  was  shiuing  in  through 
the  little  square  window,  and  by  its  beams  Bertie  could 
see  this  thing  was  a  puppy, — a  Newfoundland  puppy 
some  four  months  old.  He  welcomed  it  with  as  much 
rapture  aa  ever  Robert  Bruce  did  the  spider.  It  had 
evidently  been  awakened  from  its  sleep  by  the  smell  of 
the  food.  It  was  a  pleasant,  companionable,  warm  and 
kindly  creature ;  it  knocked  the  bread  out  of  his  hand, 
and  thrust  its  square  mouth  into  his  milk,  but  he  share^l 
it  willingly,  and  had  a  hearty  cry  over  it  that  did  him 
good. 

He  did  not  feel  all  alone,  now  that  this  blundering, 
toppling,  shapeless,  amiable  baby-dog  had  found  its 
way  to  him.  He  caressed  it  in  his  arms  and  kissed  it 
a  great  many  times,  and  it  responded  muc  h  more  grate- 


222  THE  LITTLE   EARL. 

fully  than  the  human  baby  had  done  in  Jim  Bracken's 
cottage,  and  finally,  despite  his  bleeding  feet  and  his 
tired  limbs,  he  fell  asleep  with  his  face  against  the  pup's 
woolly  body. 

When  he  awoke,  he  could  not  remember  what  had 
happened.  He  called  for  Deborah,  but  no  Deborah 
was  there.  The  moon,  now  full,  was  shining  still 
through  the  queer  little  dttsky  place ;  the  figures  of  the 
fowls,  rolled  up  in  balls  of  feathers  and  stuck  upon 
one  leg,  were  all  that  met  his  straining  eyes.  He  pulled 
the  puppy  closer  and  closer  to  him :  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  felt  really  frightened. 

"  I  never  touched  the  pheasant,"  he  cried,  as  loud  as 
he  could.  "  I  am  Lord  Avillion  1  You  have  no  right 
to  keep  me  here.  Let  me  outl  let  me  outl  let  me 
out  1" 

The  fowls  woke  up,  and  then  cried  and  cackled  and 
crowed,  and  the  poor  pup  whined  and  yelped  dolefully, 
but  he  got  no  other  answer.  Everybody  in  Big  George's 
cottage  was  asleep,  except  Big  George  himself,  who, 
with  his  revolver,  his  fowling-piece,  and  a  couple  of 
bull-dogs,  was  gone  out  again  into  the  woods. 

At  home,  Bertie  in  his  pretty  bed,  that  had  belonged 
to  the  little  E,oi  de  Rome,  had  always  had  a  soft  light 
burning  in  a  porcelain  shade,  and  his  nurse  within  easy 
call,  and  Ralph  on  the  mat  by  the  door.  He  had 
never  been  in  the  dark  before,  and  he  could  hear 
unseen  things  moving  and  rustling  in  the  straw,  and 
he  felt  afraid  of  the  white  moonbeams  shifting  hither 
and  thither  and  shining  on  the  shape  of  the  big  Brahma 
cock  till  the  great  bird  looked  like  a  vulture.  Once  a 
rat  ran  swiftly  across,  and  then  the  fowls  shrieked,  and 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  223 

Bertie  could  not  help  screaming  with  them ;  but  in  a 
minute  or  two  he  felt  ashamed  of  himself,  for  he  thought, 
"  A  rat  is  God's  creature  as  much  as  I  am ;  and,  as  I 
have  not  done  anything  wrong,  I  do  not  think  they 
will  be  allowed  to  hurt  me." 

Nevertheless,  the  night  was  very  terrible.  Without 
the  presence  of  the  puppy,  no  doubt,  the  little  Earl 
would  have  frightened  himself  into  convulsions  and 
delirium ;  but  the  pup  was  so  comforting  to  him,  so 
natural,  so  positively  a  thing  real  and  in  no  wise  of 
the  outer  world,  that  Bertie  kept  do^n,  though  with 
many  a  sob,  the  panics  of  unreasonmg  terror  which 
assailed  him  as  the  moon  sailed  away  past  the  square 
loop-hole,  and  a  great  darkness  seemed  to  wrap  him  up 
in  it  as  though  some  giant  were  stifling  him  in  a  magic 
cloak. 

The  pup  had  not  long  been  taken  from  its  mother, 
and  had  been  teased  all  day  by  the  keeper's  children, 
and  was  frightened,  and  whimpered  a  good  deal,  and 
cuddled  itself  close  to  the  little  Earl,  who  hugged  it 
and  kissed  it  in  paroxysms  of  loneliness  and  longing 
for  comfort. 

With  these  long,  horrible  black  hours,  all  sorts  ot 
notions  and  terrors  assailed  him ;  all  he  had  ever  read 
of  dungeons,  of  enchanted  castles,  of  entrapped  princes, 
of  Prince  Arthur  and  the  Duke  of  Rothsay,  of  the 
prisoner  of  Chillon  and  the  Iron  Mask,  of  every  kind 
of  hero,  martyr,  and  wizard-bewitched  captive,  crowded 
int/"  his  mind  with  horrifying  clearness,  thronging  on 
him  with  a  host  of  fearful  images  and  memories. 

Bu^  this  waa  only  in  his  weaker  moments.  When 
he  clasped  the  puppy  and  felt  its  warm  wet  tongue 


224  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

lick  his  hair,  he  gathered  up  his  courage :  after  all,  he- 
thought,  Big  George  was  certainly  only  a  keeper, — not 
an  ogre,  or  an  astrologer,  or  a  tyrant  of  Athens  or  of 
Rome. 

So  he  fell  off  again,  after  a  long  and  dreadful  waking- 
time,  into  a  fitful  slumber,  in  which  his  feet  ached  and 
iiis  nerves  jumped,  and  the  frightful  visions  assailed 
nim  just  as  much  as  when  he  was  awake ;  and  how 
that  ghastly  night  passed  by  him,  he  never  knew  very 
well. 

When  he  again  opened  his  eyes  there  was  a  dim  gray 
light  in  the  fowl-house,  and  sharp  in  his  ear  was  ring- 
ing the  good-morrow  of  the  Brahma  chanticleer. 

It  was  daybreak. 

A  round  red  face  looked  in  at  the  square  hole,  and 
tlie  voice  of  the  keeper's  wife  said,  "  Little  gemman. 
Big  George  will  be  arter  ye  come  eight  o'clock,  and 
't  '11  go  hard  wi'  yer.  Say  now,  yer  didn't  snare  the 
bird?" 

"  No,'*  said  Bertie,  languidly,  lying  full  length  on 
the  straw ;  he  felt  shivery  and  chilly,  and  very  stiff 
and  very  miserable  in  all  ways. 

"  But  yer  know  who  did  1"  persisted  the  woman. 
"  Now,  jist  you  tell  me,  and  I'll  make  it  all  square 
with  George,  and  he'll  let  you  out,  and  we'll  gie  ye 
porridge,  and  we'll  take  ye  home  on  the  donkey." 

The  little  Earl  was  silent. 

"  Now,  drat  ye  for  a  obstinate  1  I  can't  abide  a 
chstinate,"  said  the  woman,  angrily.  "  Who  did  snare 
tne  bird  ?  jist  say  that ;  't  is  all,  and  mighty  little." 

'*  I  will  not  say  that,"  said  Bertie  j  and  the  woman 
slammed  a  wooden  door  that  tliere  was  to  the  loop- 


THE  LITTLE   EARL.  225 

hole,  and  told  him  he  was  a  mule  ana  a  pig,  and  that 
she  was  not  going  to  waste  any  more  words  about  him ; 
she  should  let  the  birds  out  by  the  bars.  What  she 
called  the  bars,  which  were  two  movable  lengths  of 
wood  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  the  walls,  did  in  point 
of  fact  soon  slip  aside,  and  the  fowls  all  cackled  and 
strutted  and  fluttered  after  their  different  manners,  and 
bustled  through  the  opening  towards  the  daylight  and 
the  scattered  corn,  the  Brahma  cock  having  much  ado 
to  squeeze  his  plumage  where  his  wives  had  passed. 

"  The  puppy's  hungry,"  said  Bertie,  timidly. 

"  Drat  the  puppy  1"  said  the  woman  outside ;  and 
no  more  compassion  was  wrung  out  of  her.  The  little 
Earl  felt  very  languid,  light-headed,  and  strange ;  he 
was  faint,  and  a  little  feverish. 

"  Oh,  dear,  pup !  what  a  night  I"  he  murmured,  with 
a  burst  of  sobbing. 

Yet  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  purchase  his  liberty 
by  giving  up  little  guilty  Dan. 

Some  more  hours  rolled  on, — slow,  empty,  desolate, 
— filled  with  the  whine  of  the  pup  for  its  mother,  and 
the  chirping  of  unseen  martins  going  in  and  out  of  the 
roof  above-head. 

"  I  suppose  they  mean  to  starve  me  to  death," 
thought  Bertie,  his  thoughts  clinging  to  the  Duke  of 
Rothsay's  story. 

He  heard  the  tread  of  Big  George  on  the  ground 
outside,  and  his  deep  voice  cursing  and  swearing,  and 
the  children  running  to  and  fro,  and  the  hens  cackling. 
Then  the  little  Earl  remembered  that  he  was  born  of 
brave  men,  and  must  not  be  unworthy  of  them ;  and 
he  rose,  though  unsteadily,  and  tried  to  pull  his  dif*- 
15 


226  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

ordered  dress  together,  and  tried,  too,  not  to  look 
afraid. 

He  recalled  Casablanca  on  the  burning  ship :  Casa- 
bianca  had  not  been  so  very  much  older  than  he. 

The  door  was  thrust  open  violently,  and  that  big 
grim  black  man  looked  in.  "  Come,  varmint !"  he 
cried  out ;  "  come  out  and  get  your  merits :  birch  and 
bread-and- water  and  Scripture-readin'  for  a  good  month, 
I'll  go  bail ;  and  't  'ud  be  a  year  if  I  wur  the  beak." 

Then  Bertie,  on  his  little  shaky  shivering  limbs, 
walked  quite  haughtily  towards  him  and  the  open  air, 
the  puppy  waddling  after  him.  "  You  should  not  be 
so  very  rough  and  rude,"  he  said :  "  I  will  go  with  you. 
But  the  puppy  wants  some  milk." 

Big  George's  only  answer  was  to  clutch  wildly  at 
Bertie's  clothes  and  hurl  him  anyhow,  head  first,  into 
a  little  pony-cart  that  stood  ready.  "  Such  tarnation 
cheek  I  never  seed,"  he  swore ;  "  but  all  them  Radley 
imps  are  as  like  one  to  t'  other  as  so  many  ribston- 
pippins, — all  the  gift  o'  the  gab  and  tallow-faces !" 

Bertie,  lying  very  sick  and  dizzy  in  the  bottom  of 
the  cart,  managed  to  find  breath  to  call  out  to  the 
woman  on  the  door-step,  "  Please  do  give  the  puppy 
something ;  it  has  been  so  hungry  all  night." 

"  That's  no  Radley  boy,"  said  the  keeper's  wife  to 
her  eldest  girl  as  the  cart  drove  away.  "  Only  a  little 
gemman  'ud  ha'  thought  of  the  pup.  Strikes  me,  lass, 
your  daddy's  put  a  rod  in  pickle  for  hisself  along  o' 
hig  tantrums  and  tivies." 

It  was  but  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  keeper's  cot- 
tage to  the  mansion  of  the  Sir  Henry  who  was  owner 
of  tbese  lands ;  and  the  pony  spun  along  at  a  swing 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  227 

trot,  and  Big  George,  smoking  and  rattling  along^ 
never  deigned  to  look  at  his  prisoner. 

"  Another  poachin'  boy,  Mr.  Mason  ?"  said  the  woman 
who  opened  the  lodge  gates;  and  Big  George  answered, 
heartily, — 

"  Ay,  ay,  a  Radley  imp  caught  at  last.  Got  the  bird 
on  him,  and  the  gin  too.     What  d'ye  call  that  ?" 

"  I  call  it  like  your  vigilance,  Mr.  Mason,"  said  the 
lodge-keeper.     "  But,  lawks  !  he  do  look  a  mite  !" 

Big  George  spun  on  up  the  avenue  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  knew  his  own  important  place  in  the  world, 
and  the  little  cart  was  soon  pulled  up  at  the  steps  of  a 
stately  Italian-like  building. 

"  See  Sir  Henry  to  wunce :  poachin'  case,"  said  Big 
George  to  the  footman  lounging  about  the  doorway. 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Mason.  Sir  Henry  said  as  you  wa» 
to  go  to  him  directly." 

"Step  this  way,"  said  one  of  the  men;  and  Big 
George  proceeded  to  haul  Bertie  out  of  the  cart  as  un- 
ceremoniously as  he  had  thrown  him  in ;  but  the  little 
Earl,  although  his  head  spun  and  his  shoeless  feet 
ache<l,  managed  to  get  down  himself,  and  staggered 
across  the  hall. 

"A  Radley  boy!"  said  Big  George,  displaying  him 
with  much  pride.  "  All  the  spring  and  all  the  winter 
I've  been  after  that  weazen-faced  varmint,  and  now 
I've  got  him." 

"Sir  Henry  waits,"  said  a  functionary;  and  Big 
George  marched  into  a  handsome  library,  dragging 
his  captive  behind  him,  towards  the  central  writing- 
table,  at  which  a  g'jod-looking  elderly  gentleman  wa8 
sitting. 


228  THE  LITTLE   EARL. 

Arrived  before  his  master,  the  demeanor  of  Big 
George  underwent  a  remarkable  change;  he  cringed, 
and  he  pulled  his  lock  of  hair,  and  he  scraped  about 
with  his  leg  in  the  humblest  manner  possible,  and 
proceeded  to  lay  the  dead  pheasant  and  the  trap  and 
gear  upon  the  table. 

"  Took  him  in  the  ac',  Sir  Henry,"  he  said,  with 
triumph  piercing  through  deference.  "I  been  after 
him  ages ;  he's  a  Radley  boy,  the  little  gallows-bird ; 
he's  been  snarin'  and  dodgin'  and  stealin'  all  the  winter 
long,  and  here  we've  got  him." 

"  He  is  very  small, — quite  a  child,"  said  Sir  Henry, 
doubtingly,  trying  to  see  the  culprit. 

"He's  stunted  in  his  growth  along  o'  wickedness, 
sir,"  said  Big  George,  very  positively ;  "  but  he's  old 
in  wice ;  that's  what  he  is,  sir, — old  in  wice." 

At  that  moment  Bertie  managed  to  get  in  front  of 
him,  and  lifted  his  little  faint  voice. 

"He  has  made  a  mistake,"  he  said,  feebly:  "I  never 
killed  your  birds  at  all,  and  I  am  Lord  Avillion." 

"Good  heavens!  you  thundering  idiot!"  shouted 
Sir  Henry,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  This  is  the  little 
Earl  they  are  looking  for  all  over  the  island,  and  all 
over  the  country  I  My  dear  little  fellow,  how  can  1 
ever " 

His  apologies  were  cut  short  by  Bertie  dropping 
down  in  a  dead  faint  at  his  feet,  so  weak  was  he  from 
cold,  and  hunger,  and  exhaustion,  and  unwonted  ex- 
posure. 

It  was  not  very  long,  however,  before  all  the  alarmed 
household,  pouring  in  at  the  furious  ringing  of  their 
master's  bell,  had  revived  the  little  Earl,  and  brought 


THE  LITTLE  EARL.  229 

him  to  his  senses  none  the  worse  for  the  momentary 
eclipse  of  them. 

"Please  do  not  be  angry  with  your  man,"  murmured 
Bertie,  as  he  lay  on  one  of  the  wide  leathern  couches. 
"  He  meant  to  do  his  duty ;  and  please  —will  you  let 
me  buy  the  puppy  ?" 

Of  course  Sir  Henry  would  not  allow  the  little  Earl 
to  wander  any  farther  afield,  and  of  course  a  horseman 
was  sent  over  in  hot  haste  to  apprise  his  people,  misled 
by  the  boat-lad,  who,  frightened  at  his  own  share  in 
the  little  gentleman's  escape,  had  sworn  till  he  was 
hoarse  that  he  had  seen  Lord  Avillion  take  a  boat  for 

Rye. 

So  Bertie's  liberty  was  nipped  in  the  bud,  and  very 
sorrowfully  and  wistfully  he  strayed  out  on  to  the  rose- 
terrace  of  Sir  Henry's  house,  awaiting  the  coming  of 
his  friends.  The  puppy  had  been  fetched,  and  was 
tumbling  and  waddling  solemnly  beside  him ;  yet  he 
was  very  sad  at  heart. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  my  child  ?"  said  Sir 
[lenry,  who  was  a  gentle  and  learned  man. 

Bertie's  mouth  quivered. 

"I  see,"  lie  said,  hesitatingly, — "I  see  1  am  nothing. 
It  is  the  title  they  give  me,  and  the  money  I  have  got, 
that  make  the  people  so  good  to  me.  When  I  am  only 
me,  you  see  how  it  is." 

And  the  tears  rolled  down  his  face,  which  he  had 
heard  called  "  wizen"  and  "  puny"  and  likened  to 
tallow. 

"  My  dear  little  fellow,"  said  his  grown-up  com- 
panion, tenderly,  "  there  comes  a  day  when  even  kings 
are  stripped  of  all  their  pomp,  and  lie  naked  and  stark ; 


230  THE  LITTLE  EARL. 

it  is  then  that  which  they  have  done,  not  that  which 
they  have  been,  that  will  find  them  grace  and  let  them 
rise  again." 

"But  I  am  nothing!"  said  Bertie,  piteously.  "You 
see,  when  the  people  do  not  know  who  I  am,  they 
think  me  nothing  at  all." 

"  I  don't  fancy  Peggy  and  Dan  will  think  so  when 
we  tell  them  everything,"  said  the  host.  "  We  are  all 
of  us  nothing  in  ourselves,  my  child ;  only,  here  and 
there  we  pluck  a  bit  of  lavender, — that  is,  we  do  some 
good  thing  or  say  some  kind  word, — and  then  we  get 
a  sweet  savor  from  it.  You  will  gather  a  great  deal 
of  lavender  in  your  life,  or  I  am  mistaken." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Bertie,  who  understood. 

So,  oflf  the  downs  that  day,  and  in  the  pleasant  haw- 
thorn woods  of  the  friendly  little  Isle,  he  plucked  two 
heads  of  lavender, — humility  and  sympathy.  Believe 
me,  they  are  worth  as  much  as  was  the  moly  of  Ulysses. 


